


she does pretty well with fiends from hell

by Hinn_Raven



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Buffy The Vampire Slayer Fusion, F/F, Friendship, Gen, Minor Carrie Kelley/Harper Row, Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, The Slayers are VERY FUCKED UP okay, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2020-07-30 15:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 111,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20099515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: Stephanie Brown is sixteen years old. She’s a vampire slayer. Things are going about as well as you might expect.





	1. apocalypse, we’ve all been there

**Author's Note:**

> So zur-en-arrhbatman over on Tumblr is fully to blame with this. Back in December they asked me for my thoughts about a Buffy fusion. I immediately had a ton of thoughts, and it went straight onto the to-write list. 
> 
> And then I realized this was going to be a multi-chap. 
> 
> So here we are, 9k later, and here's chapter one! 
> 
> If you've never seen Buffy, don't worry about it, although I have cribbed some lines of dialogue here and there, and yeah, you'll probably be spoiled for Season 1 of Buffy if you read this. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

Stephanie Brown is sixteen years old, and she doesn’t want to die.

Most people probably don’t, if she’s being honest with herself, but for her, it’s _different_.

She’s only been the Slayer for six months, meaning she’s still below average for a Slayer lifespan, but not by much.

The average Slayer lives less than a year. Nine out of ten don’t make it to see their eighteenth birthday.

The oldest slayer in recorded history lived to be twenty-two years old.

It’s enough to make Steph drop out of school forever, because she’s never going to have a job, never going to go to college. She’s never going to fall in love, or grow old, or drink legally, or do any of the other stupid things that other kids take for granted, but she desperately longs for.

The best part is, no one else _cares_. Not her dad, her first Watcher, who hated her being the Slayer only because it meant she was strong enough to throw him out the window when he hit her mom. Not Bruce, her new Watcher, who watches her with impassionate eyes and critiques her technique.

Bruce has spent his entire life training to mentor one young girl, who will live shortly and die gloriously, and hopefully take enough forces of evil down with her to get him a cushy office job after her death. He might like her, might care about her, but he walked into this with his eyes wide open. She’s a walking corpse to him, and her survival is to his advantage, but he knows far too much to get attached.

Then there’s her mom, who still doesn’t believe her about her destiny, who keeps trying to keep her inside the house at night and has been trying to find resources for meta-humans, rather than admitting that her daughter is doomed, destined, and prophesized to die at the hands of a vampire, whose name that Bruce knows but won’t tell her.

There’s Tim and Harper, who are wonderful friends, but who don’t _get _it; they don’t get why she insists on driving every chance she gets and dancing every night, even when there’s homework to do or a test to study for. They don’t get why she fights with Bruce so often and eats junk food all the time, ignoring all of Tim’s pleas to think about her health, her body. They don’t _understand _that as much as she’s fighting tooth and nail, she also knows it’s all pointless. What use is a good grade on an English test, or handing in all of her homework, when one night, a vampire is going to get lucky, and drain her dry?

_Here lies Stephanie Brown. Died too young. She saved the world, maybe_. _Next?_

If she was sensible, if she was following the Council’s rules, she wouldn’t even talk to Tim and Harper. She’d drop out of school, move in with Bruce, and never speak to her mom again. She’s sixteen now, so it’s not like anyone could stop her. She’d spend all of her days training for the inevitable, for that fight that will eventually happen, so that whenever some demon gets lucky, she’ll take as many of them with her as possible.

But that feels like giving up; it feels like admitting that her life will be meaningless and that her death will be tragic and unmourned by the cold and calculating circle of Watchers across the ocean.

And so she continues to _live_, to try to pretend, sometimes, that she will graduate from high school and apply to colleges and dance at her own senior prom. She pretends that she will be more than a footnote in the history of those Watcher’s journals. She sharpens her sword and she puts on a smile. She dances and she argues with Bruce and she kills vampires and defeats the forces of evil, and then the next day, she goes to school, and tries to learn, even with exhaustion pulling at her eyelids from her nightly patrol.

She’s sixteen years old.

She doesn’t want to die.

* * *

Steph gets out of her mom’s car, ignoring her mom’s chatter about how being out of the big city is surely going to be good for her, and examines Gotham High School.

It’s smaller than Los Angeles. It’s East Coast and overcast, and a part of Steph wonders if vampires can operate under cloud cover, like in Twilight.

She doesn’t voice that thought to her mom, who’s in denial about vampires again. Steph doesn’t want to be taken to another doctor, doesn’t want to go to another therapist. It’s not like Steph doesn’t _have _issues, but her issues _don’t _involve hallucinations and delusions of vampires. None of the therapists want to talk about anxiety and trauma stemming from her dad. They all just want to talk about vampires and demons and why Steph thinks that acting out violently solves her problems.

Which, to be fair, if vampires weren’t real, she would probably agree that violent tendencies are more of a problem than her claustrophobia, but as it is, vampires _are _real, and nobody was _in _that warehouse! And she hadn’t meant to hit that kid with a brick!

All the way on a different coastline, with a fresh start, and the vaguest hopes that maybe the Watcher’s Council will just wait her out, rather than send another Watcher into her life, Steph absently waves goodbye to her mother, and walks up the steps.

Oswald Cobblepot, the principal of the school, takes one look at her record, and tells her to behave herself, or _else_.

Steph doesn’t say anything, not even her usual quip about mice with cigarettes or pointing out that nobody got hurt, or that the warehouse was full of evil vampires, just grabs her backpack and goes to her first class of the day, which is _math_.

She ends up sitting next to Duke Thomas, who turns out to be the most popular boy in school. She can see why, too. He’s movie-star pretty, with great teeth and a buzzcut and dark brown skin and perfectly shaped eyebrows. He’s _clever_, too, smart as a whip, and he shares his book with Steph and talks with her about life in the big city and asks her if she misses it.

(She doesn’t know, not yet, about his skill with a crossbow, about how he’ll be the one to drive her home after battles to come.)

Steph talks about Los Angeles, and then she trips over herself when he asks after her dad.

Duke Thomas is _normal_. He loves being normal.

How can Steph tell him about the fact that her dad was apparently, employed by a shady British organization once upon a time, only to get kicked out for being rowdy and violent, and then _she’d _turned out to be the prize of all prizes, the Slayer herself, and how he’d sloppily taught her to fight, to kill, and tried to use her to get him back in with the organization, making her think that _finally_, she was good enough for him, because she’d given him everything he’d ever asked for… only for him to try to hit her mother that night.

He’d gone out the window, after that, and ended up making a lot of _bad _decisions.

Decisions which had led Stephanie Brown to standing in front of a warehouse with the doors barred, listening to a vampire with her father’s voice begging her to let him out.

She can’t tell Duke about that. So she parrots the line her mother likes to use, about her father running off with his secretary (Mom _believes _it, but that’s another problem).

Duke Thomas is wonderfully, amazingly, brilliantly _normal_. Worse than that, he’s _nice_. The kind of nice that means that, if he knew what was really out there, he’d try to help. And then where would all that normal be? The most popular boy in school, honors society, cheerleader, and Homecoming King?

What would happen to him, if he entered the world of vampires and demons and things that go bump in the night?

And so Steph walks away from his gestures of friendship, because all she can do is try to keep him safe, try to keep him out of her world.

Duke is normal. Duke deserves better than to be part of Stephanie Brown’s world of blood and magic.

(She makes the decision for him.

It’s one of her biggest regrets, later.)

* * *

Vampires kill Harper Row’s mother when she’s a child. Harper watched it happen, safe inside her home, while her mother, outside of the safety of the threshold of their front door.

Harper Row has spent the past three years of her life making sure that Cullen knows _never t_o invite anybody inside and has stashes of holy water throughout the house.

Every night when someone dies by falling on a barbeque fork in town, Harper Row goes out to the cemetery with shaking hands and a fence post sharpened to a point and goes to sit on their grave until sunrise.

Because she hadn’t done that for her mother.

And the next morning there had been a gaping hole in the earth, and every day Harper has to live with the knowledge that, somewhere, there’s a demon wearing her mother’s face.

And one day, she’s going to come back for Harper and Cullen.

Stephanie Brown arrives in Gotham just in time for Harper’s sophomore year of high school. She’s tall and blonde, with an easy going laugh and bright blue eyes, and a sense of total confidence, and Harper _totally _gets a bit of a crush on the spot.

How can she not? 

“Uh, hi,” Steph says. Tim elbows her _hard _in the side, one of the fastest ways they have between them to communicate a particularly glaring gay-disaster moment, and Harper blinks before refocusing on the girl in front of her.

“Hi,” Harper says.

“Um, yeah, I’m looking for the library?” Steph says. “I need to pick up some books.”

“Weren’t you just walking with Duke?” Tim asks. Tim has been jealous of Duke since fifth grade, when Duke had beaten him in the spelling bee, and Harper has _told _him it’s not a good look, but an unhealthy combination of sexual tension and competitiveness are just too much of a potent combination for Tim Drake, especially when combined with his signature sleep deprivation.

“He… had class?” Steph says, frowning at Tim. “What’s the matter, can’t I talk with you guys and Duke?”

“Not legally,” Tim mutters, and Harper elbows _him_, this time.

“Library’s just around the corner,” she tells Stephanie Brown, who’s possibly the prettiest girl that Harper has _ever _seen.

“Thanks,” Steph says, flashing her a grin, and then she vanishes around that corner, into the domain of Mister Wayne.

* * *

Steph walks into the library, and looks up into the eyes of a tall, dark haired man with sharp blue eyes.

“Stephanie Brown?” He asks. His voice is deep, but why does he know her name?

Oh no.

“Nope, definitely not me,” Steph says, but the Watcher’s eyes narrow as he looks at her, taking her in.

“I’m Bruce Wayne,” he says. “Your new Watcher.”

Her shoulders slump. “Didn’t take you guys long, did it?” She says, bitterly.

He frowns at her. “You haven’t had a Watcher in two months. The delay was considered by many in the council to be unacceptably long as it is, but the… circumstances were ruled to be extenuating.”

“Extenuating” might be the nicest way to say “you fed your dad-slash-Watcher to a vampire accidentally by throwing him out a window for being an abusive jackass and then burned him to death after he got turned” that Steph had ever heard.

“Yeah, well,” Steph says, trying her best to not share the trepidation on her face with the man. “I’ve been doing fine on my own.”

“Perhaps,” Bruce says. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t do better.”

Steph swallows. “What if I don’t _want _to do better?”

He gives her a look that’s almost sympathetic. “They’ll never leave you alone, Stephanie. We both know that.”

She thinks about the vampire who she’d killed outside a gas station during her and her mom’s cross-country road trip to Gotham. She thinks about all the people who might die if she doesn’t do her “duty.”

Some ancient, horrible magic has given her, a sixteen-year-old girl, the power to help people, and _only _her.

It’s horrible and twisted, but it’s the way that things are.

“Okay,” she says, her shoulders slumping, her throat closing up. It feels a little too close to surrender, to admitting that her father was _right_.

She’s the Slayer. Her job is to live a short, bright, and brilliant life, and to die gloriously, saving as many people as possible.

She will not count her life in days or nights or even heartbeats in her own chest.

There is only one metric that matters, only one metric that _can _matter, as she picks up the book that Bruce offers her, and that’s how many people she can help before one vampire gets lucky.

She cradles the book, labelled _Vampyre _against her chest, and takes the piece of paper with Bruce’s phone number on it with a numbness that she hasn’t felt since she’d stumbled home, smelling of ashes.

One girl in all the world. It hardly seems _fair_.

But magic and the Watcher’s Council have never cared about fairness.

Steph puts the book, heavy with its ancient pages, into her backpack, and then convinces Bruce to give her the rest of her textbooks, even though the look he gives her conveys that he thinks that this is a waste of time.

“You should come here after school,” he says. “We can set a schedule for your training.”

“I… have a thing tonight,” Steph says, and it’s not a lie, Duke had suggested she go out dancing at the local club, called _The Cave_. “I’ll come tomorrow!” She runs away before he can ask her questions, before he can make a counteroffer.

So sue her, if she wants to put this off a little longer? If she wants to be able to pretend that she’s still _Stephanie Brown_, ordinary teenager, just for a little longer?

Stephanie Brown, who definitely wasn’t a teenage mom, who definitely doesn’t have super strength, and who didn’t have to kill a vampire wearing her dad’s face.

She makes her way through the rest of her classes, and it’s not until the last bell rings that she realizes the margins of all of her notebooks are filled with bats.

She hopes it’s not an omen.

* * *

Tim Drake has never quite met anyone like Stephanie Brown. There’s something strange about her, and not just because it’s been _ages _since he’s seen Harper drool quite this obviously over someone. That makes sense, Tim supposes. Steph has long blonde hair and dark blue eyes, and when he sees her for the second time, at the Cave, she’s wearing a tight-fitting purple dress that makes more than a few jaws drop.

She makes her way straight to the center of the dance floor and seems to let herself completely go as she dances. It’s positively mesmerizing, the way that she moves, perfectly in sync to the music that’s blasting through the speakers of the club.

But that’s not why he’s never met anyone like her. There are other people who can hold that kind of attention; there are other insanely pretty girls (and boys) in the world, hell, even in their _school_.

No, there’s more than that, and Tim wonders if this has something to do with magic.

Tim Drake first learned about magic in the library. The new librarian, Bruce Wayne, brought with him a whole bunch of new and strange books, and even though they’re apparently part of Mr. Wayne’s private collection, it’s not as if they’re behind locked doors.

… okay, they might be behind locked doors, but it’s not like they’re behind _good _locked doors.

So Tim knows about magic; he’s known about vampires for years, because he’s best friends with Harper Row, the kid who knocked Bette Kane straight off her feet on Halloween because she’d worn a vampire costume and thought it was funny to sneak up on Harper. 

(Bette hadn’t meant anything by it, but that didn’t change the fact that she was _very _lucky Harper didn’t have a stake.)

Tim flips through his notebook, where he keeps all of his carefully coded, scribbled notes that he takes as he makes his way through Mr. Wayne’s rather impressive collection of magic books and finds the spell for auras.

He whispers the incantation under his breath, moving his fingers in a circle as subtly as he’s able, trying to focus his magic in the way that the books all describe proper magic users doing.

Color bursts into his vision, bright and radiant and impossible. Auras aren’t small, contained things. They’re bursting outwards, especially because he’s in a room full of teenagers, with all the hormones and wild emotions that it implies. Harper, sitting on the couch next to him, is overwhelming with her sparkling blue aura. Duke Thomas, laughing as he sits by the bar, looking unfairly gorgeous even with the neon green “underage” wristband he’s forced to wear like the rest of them, is surrounded by a brilliant, sunny yellow.

But they’re not who Tim is looking for.

Tim searches the dance floor, and his breath catches as he stares at Stephanie Brown.

Purple is his first impression, but he keeps looking, and it’s _more _than that.

_Gold_, bright and beautiful and _impossible_, swirl outwards from her in all directions, reaching for the very ceiling. It’s like a halo of brilliance around her, some sort of trick of the light, but Tim _knows _that it’s real.

And as he keeps staring at her, he sees something else entirely.

Black, dangerous and demonic, swirls around her skin, even as she dances. Black, like the auras of vampires and demons that he sees around town. She’s _human_, there’s no doubt about that, and yet the darkness clings to her, as if she’s one of them.

Her aura is beautiful and intoxicating in its beauty. But it’s also telling Tim that Stephanie Brown is _dangerous_.

Tim lets the spell end, and the burst of color all around him fades away.

He can’t wait to find out more.

* * *

Steph sees the vampire, prowling the edge of the crowd.

She doesn’t know _how _she could tell you he’s a vampire; but it’s as if an ice cube was dropped down her spine, and just like that, the tension she’s been dancing to escape is back in full force, and she stops dancing, just staring at him.

He doesn’t see her, picking his way through the crowd, eyeing some shy looking girl with literal hunger in his gaze.

She tastes bile, bitter and overwhelming, curdling on her tongue.

_One night_. That’s all she wanted. One night of dancing and laughter, with the pulse of the bass in her throat and the cool press of cement on her feet. One night, to pretend to be normal, away from destiny and vampires.

But that, it seems, is too much to ask. 

She strides forward, not even caring that she doesn’t have a weapon on her; her stake is in her bag, left at the coat check, but someone’s going to get _hurt_, and it’s not going to happen on her watch.

Suddenly, someone grabs her wrist. She spins, prepared to fight, only to find herself looking into the eyes of Harper Row.

“Here,” Harper says, eyes wide with fear. Her hands are shaking, and Tim Drake is by her side, staring at Steph with a gaze that’s curious, but unafraid.

She presses a stake into Steph’s hands. It’s crude, but the handle is worn down to accommodate a grip, and at least it won’t give her splinters.

Steph’s fingers curl tightly around it.

“Thanks,” she says.

She catches the vampire by the shirt sleeve, before he can approach the girl. “No,” Steph says.

His face begins to change, and she strikes, sinking the stake into his chest right then and there.

He collapses into dust, made almost glittery by the shining lights of the club. She watches, blank faced, as the dust falls slowly to the ground and settles there, a pile of nothingness where once had been a demon wearing a dead man’s skin, and then she turns around and leaves, out the back door. 

The alleyway is cold, the night air clear and the moon bright above her. It’s a stark contrast to the inside of _The Cave_, which is large and looming, cement and steel beams and dim lighting. 

She clutches the stake against her chest and tries to tune out the remnants of the music that she can hear, turning her head up to stare at the sky. 

She can see the stars.

She could never see the stars in Los Angeles. She tries to take comfort in this. 

“Stephanie!” Harper and Tim have followed her, and she closes her eyes tightly, trying to will tears not to form.

“Steph,” she corrects, finally opening her eyes again.

“I—how did you _know_?” Harper says, breathless. “I’ve seen him around the cemeteries, but I’ve never managed to catch him, but you just… you just _knew_.”

“I’m the Slayer,” Steph says, the words heavy as they fall from her lips. “It’s my job.”

“_The_ Slayer?” Tim asks, his eyes bright. “I’ve read about you.”

Steph tries to smile. “Don’t believe everything you read.” She tries to offer Harper the stake back.

“You should keep it,” says a voice behind her. Another ice cube, slippery and cold, dropped down her spine.

“Relax, Blondie. I’m a friend.”

“You’re a vampire.” 

“Sort of,” the vampire says, stepping out into the light. He doesn’t look any older than her. His dark hair is streaked with white. His leather jacket is worn over a battered red hoodie. His face is in its human guise, and if it weren’t for the crawling of her skin, she might not have noticed him. “But believe me, that’s a fight you don’t want to get into. Not tonight, at least.”

“I don’t usually negotiate with vampires,” Steph says, her smile a little tight as she keeps herself in front of Tim and Harper. His comment makes her worried; some cocky vampires are full of hot air, but plenty of them are dangerous, and she’s not about to find out at the cost of Harper and Tim. 

“You should this time,” he tells her. “I promise. I don’t bite.”

“If you try to tell me you’re a vegetarian and you sparkle, I’ve heard that one before, and I still don’t buy it.”

“Oh _please_. If I wanted to be a literary vampire, I wouldn’t lower myself like that.” He sticks his hands into his pockets. “No, just… thought I’d give you and your watcher a warning.”

“Does it involve leaving? ‘cuz I’m afraid that trying to scare the Slayer out of town is _really_ not a good idea.”

He laughs. “No. But tell Wayne… tell him Jason says that destiny is knocking. There’s an ancient vampire imprisoned in this town, Slayer. And the spell keeping him trapped is about to wear out.”

“What’s his name?” Steph asks, suddenly sharp. _Ancient _vampire… now that’s the kind of thing that gets a girl killed.

“I don’t know yet. But I will soon.”

“Why are you telling me this? Is he threatening your hunting grounds?”

He laughs, and steps further into the light. His face is thin, the way that vampires get when they haven’t eaten in a while. “No,” he says. “But if he gets out, a lot of people are going to get hurt.”

“Since when do demons care about that?” Steph demands.

“Since they were me,” Jason, which is a terrible name for a vampire, replies, and then he turns around and walks away into Gotham’s night.

Steph gives chase, but by the time she reaches the end of the alleyway, he’s gone.

“I _hate _cryptic warnings,” she tells Harper and Tim. “Prophecies too. They’re _annoying_.”

Tim looks put out. Harper looks _fascinated_.

“Keep the stake,” she says. “I can make more.”

Steph sighs. “I need to get my bag,” she says. “And then I need to go find Bruce.”

“You mean Mr. Wayne?” Tim says, looking _far _too interested.

“I’m not calling him that,” Steph says. “But we’ve got a message to deliver, I guess. Hopefully he doesn’t mind you guys tagging along.

(He does. But Steph keeps them around anyways.)

* * *

“Jason?” Bruce repeats, when she passes on the message. 

“That’s what he said,” Steph confirms, putting her feet up on the table. Luckily, she thought ahead and put a change of clothes in her bag, because she’d probably get even worse looks from Bruce than she’s already getting if she’d shown up in her purple dress that she’d bought mainly because it pissed her dad off. 

It’s a fun dress, but she has to admit, fighting vampires is a lot easier in comfortable jeans and a very washable t-shirt. She should buy more black; it hides bloodstains better. 

“He’s known as the Red Hood,” Bruce says, reluctantly. 

“Is he a famous vampire?” Tim asks, eyes gleaming with a frankly adorable nerdiness. 

Bruce looks distinctly uncomfortable, but Steph can’t tell if it’s Tim’s presence or his question that’s doing it. 

“Not exactly. It’s a title. Multiple vampires have claimed it over the years.”

“What about this one?” Steph asks, shifting in her seat to be sitting relatively normal. She props her chin on her hand. “Dark hair, white streak in his hair, leather jacket? What’s his deal?” 

“He’s... an unusual case. He claims to possess a human soul.” 

“That’s impossible,” Harper says, her face pale. Steph wonders, for a moment, what’s up with that, before realizing it’s probably none of her business. 

“There is... evidence to support his claim,” Bruce says, reluctantly. “That does not mean he is to be trusted. He is still incredibly dangerous.” He hesitates. “He’s killed a Slayer in the past, Stephanie.” 

Steph’s stomach lurches. Killing a Slayer is supposed to be one of the biggest achievements for Vampires. Slayer blood is supposed to have special properties. What, Dad had never told her, but she knows it’s a _thing_. A Vampire who’s killed a Slayer is dangerous. 

Yeah, maybe Jason-the-Red-Hood just got lucky, but Steph doesn’t think that Bruce would get this kind of expression if he had. 

“Before or after this hypothetical soul?” 

“Before,” Bruce says. His expression is so grim that it should be carrying a scythe and wearing a black robe. 

Steph frowns. “Okay, but I really don’t like the sound of destiny knocking. Especially when it’s delivered by vampires who’ve killed Slayers. That’s the kind of stuff that gets me put on a “shortest lived Slayer” plaque.”

“The shortest-lived Slayer lived three hours,” Bruce says. “You won’t be unseating her.”

“Wow, that is horrifying,” Steph says, careful not to look at Harper and Tim. “Anyways, I still don’t like this. I say let’s find out this vampire’s name so I can stake him.” 

“I’ll begin looking into historical vampires tied to the Gotham area,” Bruce says. “Meanwhile, I suggest you investigate the weapons cabinet to see if there’s anything you want to take with you on patrol.” 

* * *

Bruce examines his Slayer carefully as she hefts an axe in her hands. It’s incredibly heavy, and she swings it around as if it weighs no more than a toy.

Many Watchers are put off by the simple fact that their Slayers will be stronger than they could ever be, but Bruce knows he’s skilled enough in his own ways to not be threatened by her.

A Slayer like Stephanie Brown is unusual to say the least. She was never a potential, for all that her father was a Watcher. 

Had Arthur Brown deliberately hidden her from the Council’s gaze? Or was she one of those rare cases where the magic just missed her entirely? It was impossible to say. 

A Slayer like her happens rarely, especially now that the Council is confident in its reach. Once, they would lose the Slayer for decades at a time, as they were Called in parts of the world where the British Empire hadn’t claimed. But now, a Slayer can be born in any country, in any continent, and the Council will know. 

The Council had meant it to be an insult, to assign him as Watcher to a Slayer who had never been a potential, who had no training. Those who were Called out of an ordinary life died faster. A Watcher whose Slayer died young(er) would be curbed in ambitions, in influence, and Bruce knew he had plenty of enemies on the Council who couldn’t get rid of him directly but would love to see him shunted to the side, where he couldn’t shake things up. 

Stephanie living on a Hellmouth, a traditionally risky assignment even for a trained Slayer, will only make things harder. Bruce is sure that plenty on the Council are hoping that he’ll die out here as well, which is common enough. 

But Bruce isn’t about to allow any of that to happen. 

Stephanie Brown is a walking tragedy, and he knows it. She knows it too, he can tell by the set of her jaw and the look in her eye as she swings the axe through the air, nodding in a satisfied way at the feeling of it. 

It’s not right, what’s happened to her, but Bruce can’t do anything about that. He can’t save her; her destiny is already written, and there’s nothing he can do. 

He can help her survive for as long as he can; he’ll give her every tool he’s able to. 

But the most good he will be able to do, is at the Council itself, trying to undo the evils they’ve already done. 

Stephanie Brown is only one girl, and she’s going to die soon. 

But if Bruce plans right, he might be able to make sure that the ones that come after her will have a better time of it. 

It’s a morbid way to think, but Bruce has never pretended otherwise. 

* * *

Life on a Hellmouth kind of _sucks_. 

Tim, if Steph or Harper slip up and let him talk, will happily talk about the nexus of dark magical energies and the thin dimensional walls; confluences of ley lines and all those other factors that make up a Hellmouth. 

Steph doesn’t understand Tim’s red-thread-conspiracy board very well, but she does understand this: vampires, demons, and all the other things-that-go-bump-in-the-night _love _the Hellmouth.

She wonders, almost idly, if Gotham would be as bad if there _wasn’t _a Hellmouth here. She kind of suspects it would be Gotham has what seems like a far higher than usual number of cemeteries than a normal town of its size, it gets creepy fog _all _the goddamn time, and the whole town has a Gothic aesthetic. 

Altogether it has an aesthetic that would make B-movie horror directors roll over and beg, and that’s even before they’d see their first vampire. 

It certainly makes her patrol an aesthetic nightmare. If Steph had an Instagram, she could probably build quite a following. Some sort of horror movie aesthetic. A black and white shot of the cemetery, with the moon overhead and a fog... perfect for vampire slaying. #Slay. Something like that. 

The vampire she’s currently fighting manages to knock the stake out of her hand, which they always seem to think means that they can win.

Steph kicks him into a tree branch, impaling and dusting him on the spot. “I guess you can say you’re low hanging fruit,” she tells the air, feeling proud of herself for that one, even if no one was around to hear it. Bruce has banned Harper and Tim from joining her on patrol until they’ve learned to reload a crossbow, which Steph has to admit is probably fair.

It’s too bad, though. Steph could use the validation of Harper laughing at her quips. 

“You’re pretty good,” a voice says from behind her. 

“You’re lucky I spotted you earlier, or I might have staked you,” Steph informs the Red Hood. 

“With what? You still haven’t picked up your last one.”

In response, Steph brandishes a pair of chopsticks that she had borrowed from Tim. 

“Seriously?” 

“I once killed a vampire with a pencil. I’m very serious.” 

“How did you even get enough force—” he cuts himself off. “Stupid question. Super strength.” 

Steph raises an eyebrow at him. “So what do you want, Red Hood?” She puts as much skepticism as she humanly can into his name, because it’s a stupid name that needs to be mocked. “More cryptic remarks to make?” 

“Nah, I’ve gotten it out of my system.” He perches on a nearby grave and lights up a cigarette. 

“Wow. Is this an Anne Rice thing? Smoking vampires?”

“You’ve never read an Anne Rice book, have you?”

“Nah. I preferred Carmilla.” 

The Red Hood rolled his eyes and took a drag from his cigarette. 

“I’d say those things might kill you, but clearly, it’s a bit late for that.”

“Ha-ha, blondie.” He blew the smoke in her direction, and she made a face. 

“Seriously, what do you want? I’ve got things to do tonight.” She tossed her recently reclaimed stake up and down in the air. 

“Maybe I want to get to know you.” 

“Uh-huh,” she says. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ve got three new graves to stake out, so I’m going to go.” 

“The Black Mask is the name,” he says, abruptly. “I don’t have much else. Not yet. But I’m working on it.” 

“The Black Mask? That’s almost as bad as your name.” 

“My _name _is Jason,” he says irritably. “Look, just be careful, Blondie. He’s... old fashioned.”

“Well, if he’s looking for blood of a virgin, he’s a few years too late,” Steph muses. It’s worth the self-deprecation to see a vampire choke, even when he doesn’t need to breathe. No need to tell him she already knows that virgin blood just means blood that hasn’t been used before.

“_Jesus_, Blondie, you’re lucky I’m already dead,” he wheezes, dropping his cigarette onto the ground.

Steph shrugs, not particularly caring what he thinks about her or her bad life decisions that she’d made when she was fourteen. “Well, I’m going to go kill some vampires. Have fun doing whatever it is you do when you’re not stalking me.” 

“It’s not stalking!” He calls after her, sounding actually offended. Steph just rolls her eyes, and heads to the next cemetery, where she’s got more vampires to stake.

* * *

For her sixteenth birthday, Mom gives Steph a pair of tickets for a whale watching cruise and promises that they’ll go together. Tim and Harper give Steph three new charms for her charm bracelet; a bat and two birds, one in blue and one in red. Bruce gives Steph a shiny new sword.

Duke Thomas, proving that he’s way too good to ever be drawn into Steph’s nonsense, gives her a book of piano music, because he remembered that she played, just from an offhand comment she’d made the day they’d met. 

“Duke... thanks,” she says, staring at it. It’s got a bland cover, just a piano on a cream background, but it’s thick and spiral bound and the list of composers on the back is dizzyingly long. 

“I wasn’t sure what level you’d be at?” He says, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I tried to get a book that had a lot of variety.”

“It’s perfect,” Steph says. “Thank you.” 

When she was a kid, she’d wanted to be a professional pianist. She’d dreamed of going to Julliard, of wearing elegant dresses and playing for large crowds, even of composing her own music. 

She’d been _good_, too, that was the worst part of it. Her teachers had helped her get all sorts of audition opportunities, and she had a box full of prizes from competitions. There was talk about her going to a private academy for high school, to fully prepare her for conservatory auditions, which were talked about as a _when_, not an _if_. 

Even her father had thought she was a good player. When he’d hit her, he’d always left her hands alone. He’d loved it when she played for him. He always had requests. He’d yelled when she messed up certain passages. He applauded extra loud at all of her concerts, and never missed a single one. Whenever she didn’t practice, he’d lock her in the closet. 

She loved it. She still loves it. It’s _hers_; she refuses to let her father taint this part of her, this only joy left in her life that is completely unconnected with being the Slayer, with her destiny. 

But it’s been a while since she’s played. 

She hugs Duke tightly, on impulse. 

“Thank you,” she repeats. “It’s perfect.” 

He laughs and hugs her back. “Hey, glad you liked it.”

That night, before patrol, Steph sits down at the piano, the one they’d brought with them all the way from California and plays. 

* * *

“The Black Mask,” Tim reads from the book he’s holding. It’s one of the coolest parts of doing this kind of research; Bruce has books with _all sorts _of interesting things in them. “He’s an ancient vampire, supposedly sealed in a tomb beneath Gotham centuries ago.” 

“According to Jason, he’s basically got an entire goddamn _court _down there,” Steph says, determinedly ignoring the way that Bruce frowns. “He’s kept back by a magic barrier thingy, but apparently some sort of... thingy is going to happen to let him out.”

“Thingy,” Bruce says, his voice dry as paper. 

“Thingy,” Steph agrees. 

Bruce sighs. 

Tim glances between them. 

He’s not sure _why_ it is, exactly, that Steph enjoys doing things like this so much. Bruce seems like a pretty good Watcher, but Steph is always bristling at everything that he does. 

“If he gets loose, he’ll attempt to open the Hellmouth itself and harness the dark energy within it in order to end the world,” Bruce says, flipping through his own tome. 

“So we don’t let him get out,” Steph says. “Problem solved! No apocalypse!” 

Tim sighs and goes back to studying. Bruce is locking him out of the cursed books again, but if Steph gets Bruce to twitch a few more times, he won’t notice if Tim breaks into his office. 

* * *

“This is where you live?” Harper yells at Jason. 

“What’s wrong with where I live?” He demands, leaning against the door to keep out the zombies. 

“It’s a _crypt_!” 

“I’m a vampire!” 

“_It’s morbid_!” 

“Can you two _please shut up_?” Tim demands, flipping through his spell book frantically, trying to find a spell to reverse this. 

“You don’t get to tell us what to do! This is your fault!” Jason yells. “This is why humans shouldn’t do magic! You give a kid a spell book and he _raises the dead_!” 

The sound of the zombies moaning stops abruptly, and Steph wrenches the door open, carrying an axe and covered in blood. 

She looks _unfairly _pretty, considering the blood. 

“You guys okay?” She asks, frowning at them. 

The three of them all exchange looks, and Harper realizes that all of them are thinking the exact same thing. 

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Jason finally says. 

Steph looks around. “Is that a _mini-fridge _in this crypt?” 

“It’s where I store my pig’s blood!” 

“Wait, you _live here_?” 

“Oh, not you too!” 

* * *

The vampires are getting bolder, lately. 

Steph really doesn’t know what to think of it. There’s more and more of them on her nightly patrol, and they seem to be stronger. 

She can’t keep up, and she feels herself fraying at the edges, desperately trying to keep people alive, but she can’t be everywhere at once. 

Duke and Tim end up finding the computer science teacher killed in his classroom, and it’s all anyone can talk about. 

“I just... I don’t get it,” Duke tells Steph, when she visits him in the nurse’s office. Tears are on his face. “Why would—why would anyone do that? They just—killed him.” 

Steph swallows. “I don’t... I don’t know,” she lies, turning away from him. 

“I’m scared,” Tim tells her, when she goes to visit him that night. “It’s... I knew it was dangerous. I’ve known that. But it’s... it’s never been real? But I knew him. I liked him. He helped me learn to code. And now he’s—he’s gone.” 

Steph swallows down her guilt and hugs her friend closely. 

* * *

Jason pulls his hood up over his head and climbs in through the window. 

The library is surprisingly well stocked for a public school one; much better than the school that Jason had gone to, all those years ago. It’s practically cozy, considering what it really holds. 

“Jason.” 

He stares at the bookshelves. Most of the titles on this shelf are in Latin, because of course they are. “Bruce.” 

“You—” 

“Look, I’m not here for you, okay?” Jason snaps. “The girl. Blondie.” 

“Stephanie.”

“I gave you the name. So you know what that means, right?”

There is nothing but silence from behind him. 

“You found the prophecy, didn’t you?” 

Bruce is quiet.

“She’s going to _die_, Bruce.” 

“I know.” 

“Have you even _told her_?” 

Finally, _finally_, Jason forces himself to turn around to make eye contact with Bruce. 

Bruce is older, that’s the real gut punch here. There’s grey in his hair and lines around his eyes, meanwhile Jason looks exactly the same. 

“She’s going to die, B.”

“Yes.”

“The Black Mask is going to _kill her_.” 

“I know that!” 

“_Then why aren’t you doing something_ _about it_?” 

“It’s a prophecy.” He looks defeated, and something about that is an even worse blow. 

“She’s going to _die_! Don’t you even _care_?” 

“Why should he?” 

Jason turns, shocked, and Stephanie Brown herself is standing right there, with tears on her face. 

“I mean. I’m a Slayer. This is what I’m for, right Bruce?” 

“Stephanie...” 

“Born to die, that’s me,” her laugh sounds more like a sob. “So. Do we have a date? Maybe I should get my hair cut. Just so it looks nice for my funeral, you know.” 

Bruce takes a step towards her, as if he’s going to try and hug her, and she shoves him away. “Don’t!” 

“Stephanie.”

“This is all I am! This is what I’m for! I’m—I’m going to _die_!” Tears are pouring down her face freely now, and Jason turns and runs, because this is _not _what he came here for.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Bruce say. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

* * *

So there’s an eclipse on Prom Night, which is tonight, and the barrier keeping the Black Mask in his little secret sanctum is going to go down. Steph is prophesied to die that night. 

“Okay,” Steph whispers. Bruce is hugging her now, and she’s not sure what to make of that. “Okay.”

If you try to avoid a prophecy, you only ever fulfil it. Steph knows that. 

“I never wanted to be the Slayer,” she says into Bruce’s shoulder. “Bruce... I don’t want to die.” 

Bruce doesn’t say anything, just hugs her tighter. 

“Don’t forget me, okay? When you’re on the Council and all important? You’ll miss me, right?” She’s babbling. But she’s going to die tonight, she’s allowed. 

“I could never forget you, Stephanie,” Bruce says, his voice rough. 

“I guess... I should get going. A crossbow, do you think? I’m getting better with that. Maybe I can get him before he gets me.” 

It’s a stupid hope, but it’s a hope, nonetheless. 

“Yes, a crossbow. I fixed up the one you broke last week, it’s all ready for you.” 

Steph reluctantly extracts herself from Bruce’s grasp, and goes to get her crossbow from Bruce’s desk. 

She thinks she can hear her heartbeat. It’s weird, the way it’s beating in her chest, each thump of it audible. How many beats are left? It can’t be that many. 

The crossbow is a good size, and it weighs basically nothing in her hands. She hefts it, and checks the string carefully, but Bruce clearly has too much free time on his hands, because it’s in perfect condition. 

She turns around. “Okay. I’m ready.” 

“Excellent,” Bruce says, holding a large axe. “Let’s go.”

“... us?”

“Stephanie,” he says, quietly. “I’m not sending you there alone. I’m going with you.” 

She stares at him, her knees buckling in gratitude for a moment, before reality catches up with her. 

“He’ll kill you.” Can Bruce even _fight _vampires? Steph hasn’t ever seen him fight, not really. 

“It will be okay,” Bruce says, confidently. 

“Okay,” Steph says, quietly. 

When Bruce turns around to grab his bag, she slams one of the many, heavy books that are always lying around the library on top of his head, knocking him unconscious in a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. 

Then she leaves the library to go off to her death. 

* * *

Harper’s phone rings just when she’s about to leave for Prom. She’s feeling pretty snazzy in her suit, and she’s got decent hopes that Steph will even dance with her, even though Steph told Harper that she was straight when Harper asked her to Prom. 

But that’s okay, because Harper can handle a little rejection, and she’d rather still be Steph’s friend.

She answers her phone, frowning. “Bruce? What’s wrong?” 

“Stephanie—she went after the Mask alone,” Bruce groans. “You need to get Jason—”

“Hey there, old man,” an unfamiliar voice hisses. “What are you doing?” 

The connection goes dead. 

Harper grabs her stake without thinking. “Cullen! Lock the doors and don’t let anyone in!”

She sends Tim a text, telling him to go to the library to check on Bruce, and she makes a beeline to the cemetery to find Jason. 

She bangs on the door to his crypt. “Jason! Open the door you creepy fanged—” the door opens, and Jason stares out at her. 

“What?” He demands.

“Steph went after the Mask alone,” Harper says. “And something’s at the library going after Bruce.” 

“What?” 

“So you are going to take me to the Mask, and we’re going to help Steph,” Harper says, trying to sound braver than she feels. “Tim’s going to help Bruce.” 

Jason stares at her for a long moment, then he nods. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

* * *

Tim doesn’t fully understand what’s going on, except that Steph has apparently gone after Black Mask _alone_, and Bruce is in trouble. 

Harper’s phone call was short, sweet, and to the point, and involved a lot of yelling at him to go to the library to help Bruce. 

Tim takes a very confusing moment to be grateful that his parents aren’t likely to notice if he runs out in the middle of the night, before booking it out of the window. 

There’s a large group of vampires—Steph would probably have a clever name for what Tim should call them—outside the school when he gets there, cutting him off. 

“Well that’s not good.” 

Of course, saying that out loud was a mistake, because vampires have pretty darn good hearing, and before Tim can blink, they’re all turned towards him. 

Tim grips his single stake as tightly as he can and prepares to run, when Duke Thomas’s yellow Volkswagen Beetle plows into the vampires. 

“Get in!” Duke yells. 

Tim does not need to be told twice. 

“What are you doing here?” Tim yells as Duke shifts into reverse, wincing as he drives back over several of the vampires. 

“I could ask you the same question!”

“I asked you first!” 

“I’m investigating the murder of our computer science teacher!”

“Well I’m here to rescue our librarian from vampires! We can’t go back; we need to help him!” 

Duke groans loudly but shifts back into drive. “Okay, I’ve got an idea... but you’re not going to like it.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Tim says, reaching for his seat belt. 

“Yeah. I don’t either.” 

Duke slams on the accelerator and drives towards the school. 

* * *

Bruce’s life since moving back to Gotham has been a strange, to say the least. 

Seeing two high school students jump out of a yellow bug that they’ve just driven through the walls of the library is, however, pretty high up there on his list. 

* * *

The tunnel down to the Black Mask’s lair is dark, lit only by glimpses of the moon through sewer grates. It’s made of old, crumbling brick, and the ceiling is curved up in an arch, which makes it not as claustrophobic as it could be, but it’s still pretty darn claustrophobic. 

Steph clutches her crossbow tightly in one hand and draws her jacket tighter with the other. 

Each beat of her heart seems to be louder and louder in her own ears, drowning out all other sounds, even her own thoughts. 

That’s good, because if she lets herself dwell on what she’s about to do, she might start crying again. 

She’s wading through water at this point, the cold brine of the Atlantic Ocean soaking through her boots and socks. She wishes, for a moment, that Bruce had come after all, but no, that’s selfish. 

This is her destiny. No one else’s. 

The Black Mask is going to break out and try to end the world, and she has to try and stop him. And if she fails, it’s going to be up to everyone else, up there in Gotham, to save it. 

She’s not sure how long she’s been walking, but it feels like both far too long and not enough time before she reaches an island. 

The island is made of pieces of asphalt and bones, both human and animal alike. The remnants of the Black Mask’s meals left out for everyone to see. 

It’s an unsteady to walk on, shifting beneath her feet, but Steph refuses to relinquish her grip on her crossbow as she makes the trek up the slope, towards the strange black chair she can spot on the peak. 

It’s cold and dark, she’s all alone, and there’s no way that he can’t hear her coming. 

She’s going to die here.

Steph swallows back the panicked sob that wants to escape and instead fires her first shot, right at the throne. 

“You Slayers,” a voice says behind her. “You’re all the same.”

Steph spins around, her footing unsteady, and she sees the Black Mask for the first time. 

His face is a twisted, demonic visage, like all vampires’ true faces. But his... his is worse. It’s black, as if someone burned it, as if he had exposed it to sunlight, and somehow survived.

She fires the crossbow again, but it imbeds itself in his shoulder, harmlessly, and he laughs. It’s a horrible, echoing sound, filling the entire cavern, and he grabs her by the throat. 

“I haven’t tasted Slayer Blood for centuries,” he muses. “But I’m afraid there’s no time to savor it.” 

Steph lets out a shout, but for all of her struggles, she’s unable to throw him off before he sinks his teeth into her throat. 

The bite fills her with fire, and she writhes and screams, and he laughs. 

She’s never felt anything so painful. Not giving birth, not jumping through a plate glass window to avoid her vampire father, _nothing_. Her entire world is centered around her neck, and the way that her blood, her strength, her _life_, is leaving her, and going into the demon who’s killing her. 

“Slayer Blood,” he whispers, pulling away. It’s not been very long at all, but she’s dizzied with blood loss already, and her neck and shirt both covered in blood. “The final ingredient for me to escape.” 

Steph lets out a panicked noise, as she realizes what she's done. Her blood is smeared across his horrible face, which is warped further by his smirk. 

“That’s right, little girl,” he taunts. “You’re the reason I’m free. You’re the reason the world’s going to end. Have fun with _that._” 

And then she’s flying through the air, slamming into the piles of bones, falling downwards, towards the water.

With her last, desperate strength, Steph tries to turn over, tries to pull herself back up onto the island, but when she looks up, she sees the Mask. 

“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” He says. 

He nudges her with his foot, and Steph goes under the water, and doesn’t get up. 

* * *

_There’s a girl, her age, sitting in a dark room. She’s not asleep, but she’s just... sitting there, stock still._

_There’s a flash of bright light, but she doesn’t react at all. Did she not see that? Does she not know what’s just happened? _

_Then again, she hadn’t known either..._

**“Steph!” **

_The door opens, and a man is standing there, grinning. _

**“Wake up! Please, wake up!” **

_The girl gets to her feet, a small smile on her face. _

**“C’mon Blondie, breathe!” **

_The man hugs the girl, and then takes her by the hand, leading her out of the door. On the other side, she can see a warm, bright light, and she knows, it’s the best place, and she’ll be happy there. _

_She starts to follow them, but something isn’t right... _

**“Breathe! You have to breathe!” **

_... isn’t she already breathing? _

**“Slayer! Wake up already, you’re freaking out Harper!”**

_... does she know a Harper? _

**“Jason! It’s not working!” **

**“Keep trying!” **

_... she knows those voices. _

**“Steph! Come on! Please!” **

_... oh. That’s her. _

_There’s salt in her mouth and water in her lungs and lips on hers and hands on her chest and—_

Steph opens her eyes, turns her head to the side, and throws up what feels like half of the Atlantic Ocean. 

“Steph!” 

Harper is hugging her, and Steph hugs back, shivering in her soaked clothes, the bones of the island pressing into her back. 

“Welcome back from the dead,” Jason tells her. “You weren’t breathing for a bit there. Had us worried.” 

“Well,” Steph says, her teeth chattering. “I guess that means we’re good on the prophecy front. So let’s go kill a vampire master.” 

Jason and Harper both help her up, and they head out of the cavern together. 

* * *

The Hellmouth is open, and Duke, Tim, and Bruce are all fighting vampires in the library, because _the Hellmouth is underneath the actual library_. Harper and Jason are on their way to help them. 

And this leaves Steph on the rooftop, facing off against the vampire that killed her. 

The library is in chaos, with most of the furniture broken, beneath the exposed sky. There are cracks forming in the floor, so that’s probably about to cave in, so she’s’ is _really _on a timeline here. 

The entire world is shaking with earthquakes, as if she’s back in California, and a loud, distant roar is getting louder and louder. 

“I killed you,” the Black Mask says in disbelief as he stares at her, soaked to the bone and splattered in blood, but very clearly alive. “It was written!”

“What can I say? I flunked the written.” Steph says, and then she pushes him off the roof, onto a splintered table below. 

He lets out a loud howl of pain, and then... nothing.

No more earth shaking, no more howling, no more cracks in the library floor. When she looks down, she sees nothing but dust. 

She put her hand against her neck again, and found it still bleeding sluggishly. “This sucks,” she announces, then jumps down to join everyone else in the library. 

_Ouch_, her ankles. That was a bad idea. 

“Steph!” 

She’s honestly not sure who said it first, but she doesn’t care. 

Because in a moment, all of them are there, pressing up against her, Harper and Tim and Duke and Jason and Bruce, and there are arms around her, the world is saved, and she’s alive. 

She’ll take it.


	2. whisper in a dead man’s ear: part i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new threat arrives in town, and Steph gains some new allies, and learns things about some of the ones she already has.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in a move I should have absolutely seen coming, because Season 2 of BTVS is way meatier than Season 1, my adaptation of it is turning out to be so long that I'm splitting it into at least two, possibly even 3 parts. 
> 
> Again, we're cribbing and tweaking some lines of dialogue from Buffy here and there! 
> 
> Heads up for this chapter folks: we're getting some Harley and Joker here, so check the tags, and message me over on Tumblr if you need more specific warnings.

_ _

_In every generation there is a Chosen One. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer._

Yep, that’s her. 

It’s pretty straightforward, all things considered. 

One girl, in all the world, chosen to fight back against things that go bump in the night. 

In this case, Stephanie Brown, from Los Angeles, California, aged 15, was Chosen, and granted by the mysterious Powers incredible strength, speed, reflexes, resilience, healing, and an uncanny ability to sense monsters. 

One Slayer dies, the next is called, and the cycle starts again. 

Stephanie Brown doesn’t know anything about the Slayer who came before her. She’s never really _wanted _to know. 

She tries not to think about whoever is going to come after her, either. 

(Maybe that was a mistake.)

* * *

After all the excitement that is averting the apocalypse and literally dying, summer seems to just fly by. It’s relatively quiet in terms of vampires and demons, which is honestly, exactly the kind of break that Steph needs. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t _tell _me,” Duke says, tagging along with Steph as she continues her patrol of what seems to be the only multiplying Gotham cemeteries. Duke was only just back from his summer vacation with his parents, in New York City, where Duke had gone to nerdy summer camps and his parents had written papers with impressive titles. 

Steph’s own summer had been spent playing piano, training with Bruce, and hanging out with Harper, since Tim’s parents had absconded with him to somewhere called Santa Prisca for an archaeological expedition. 

“You were normal,” Steph objects, squashing down her own guilt about the subject. “It didn’t seem fair?” 

“And Tim? Harper?” 

“Are you calling those two _normal_?” 

“... fine, I’ve got nothing. I’m still mad, though.” 

“Alright,” Steph admits, swallowing her guilt and shoving her hands into her pockets. 

“Are you ready for school to start?” Duke asks and laughs when Steph lets out a loud groan. 

“Never,” she mutters. “My mom’s threatening to ground me if I don’t pull my grades up, too.” 

“Doesn’t your mom know?” 

Steph shifts, uncomfortable with the subject. “I mean, I’ve _told _her, but she’s kind of convinced herself that I was in the middle of a nervous breakdown after my dad... well. After him. She _saw _things, I know she has, but... I think she’s convinced herself she didn’t see them.” She shrugs. “And I don’t really have time to deal with another extended hospital stay, so I’m not going to _re-_tell her anytime soon!” 

“Steph...” Duke says. “You know that’s messed up, right?” 

“Yeah, well,” Steph scuffs the grass over the grave plot where she’s standing. “She’s my mom. She’s trying. Things haven’t been easy for her.” 

“It hasn’t been easy for _you_.” 

Steph touches her neck for a moment, where the mark of a vampire’s teeth is still, barely visible. 

“Yeah, well, I’m just glad I survived last year! No need to get down about things. I beat the prophecy! I got another summer!” Steph throws out her arms. “It’s great, Duke. Really.” 

* * *

It’s been a while since he’s been to Gotham. 

Gotham’s an _amazing _place to be, really. There’s something in the air that just makes it so... homey. 

And now it’s got its own _Slayer_. 

He gets off the bus, the smell of blood thick in the air and sweet on his tongue He inhales sharply, trying to see if a Slayer in town has changed the smell of the town, but he can’t sense anything different, except for a notable lack of Masky. 

“Gee, Mister J,” Harley, splattered in blood. “It’s been so long since we were in Gotham! Is it good to be home?”

In truth, he’s not from Gotham. He’s not entirely sure _where _he’s from, actually. He’s been around for a while. Memories from before are all fuzzy around the edges, and he’s not particularly interested in sharpening the image. Humanity isn’t exactly something he misses. 

But Gotham _was _where he met Harley, where he’s had some of the best fun he’s ever had. It’s a good city to play around in, with the Hellmouths and all. 

The Joker laughs and wipes blood away from the corner of her mouth. She beams up at him, like she always does. “You know it! We’re going to have _so much fun_!” 

* * *

Bruce calls her up at home, which he pretty much never does.

Steph, in a fit of pique over the summer, had assigned Bruce _Vampire Ska _as a ringtone, which had seemed funny at the time, but was significantly less funny when she was comfortable in her bed. 

“Get to the library as soon as you can.” He doesn’t even have the decency to sound tired. She hates him _so much_. 

“Bruce,” Steph mutters, lowering her cell phone in order to check the time, and then holding it up to her ear again. “It’s _four in the morning_.” She’d only _just _gotten home from her patrol. 

“A Greyhound full of tourists was discovered at the Sunnydale bus stop, with everyone and the driver killed.” 

Steph’s mouth goes dry. “I’ll be right there,” she promises. 

She grabs the first outfit she sees right out of her closet, and then climbs right out the window. 

“What are we looking at?” She blurts out as she skids into the library. “Demons?” 

Bruce is at the big table in the library, piles of books surrounding him. Tim, Duke, and Harper have all shown up already, which would be unfair, given Slayer speed, if she didn’t live further away from school than them. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Bruce says. 

Harper looks sick, slamming the lid of her laptop shut. “I hacked the GCPD to look at the photos... let’s just. Not.” 

“Demons seem pretty likely, given the body count,” Tim offers. He’s gotten his hands on Bruce’s Watcher Diary collection again, which Steph is pretty sure Bruce has told Tim at least ten times he’s not allowed to have. 

“It’s worse than that,” Jason declares, pushing the door open. 

“Worse?” Bruce gets to his feet. Steph has only seen the two of them in the same room when she learned she was literally about to die, so she’s pretty on edge right now, and refuses for feeling bad for the way she’s glancing between them nervously. 

“It’s a vampire.” 

“None of them were exsanguinated, though!” Harper protests. “What kind of vampire kills a bus full of people and doesn’t drink?” 

“The Joker,” Jason says. 

Bruce drops the book that he’s holding. 

“Who’s the Joker?” 

“He’s dangerous,” Jason says. “Our best hope is that he’s just passing through.” 

“What? No way!” Steph turns to face him. “He killed—”

“He’ll kill _you_,” Jason grabs her by the arms. “Trust me. Steph. _Trust me_. He’ll kill you. You _don’t _want him knowing there’s a Slayer in town.” 

“I’m not just going to let him hurt people—”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says. “If the Joker is really in town, you are _not _going to rush in un-prepared.” 

“She shouldn’t be facing him at all!” Jason yells, finally releasing his grip on Steph’s arms. 

“She is the Slayer. She has a duty.”

“_She _is right here!” 

“Don’t patrol tonight,” Jason says, and it almost sounds like begging. “Blondie. Please. Just... stay inside.” 

Steph’s hands curl into fists, not liking his tone. “You are _so _not the boss—”

“I’m _asking_,” he says, and she’s never seen him like this. His eyes are big, his breathing is ragged, and he looks... _scared_. “As your—as your _friend_. Please.” 

Steph goes still, staring up into his face, thinking over what he’s said. 

Is she friends with Jason? A _vampire_? 

... yeah, she totally is. 

Crap. 

“Okay,” she says, her shoulders slumping, and Jason lets out a breath he doesn’t need to have taken in the first place in relief. 

“I’ll keep looking,” he says, to the room at large, and then he leaves the way he came. 

“Are all vampires that dramatic, you think? Or is it just him?” Harper asks. 

“Just him,” Bruce and Steph say at the same time. 

Steph sighs, and falls into an available chair to try and take a nap. 

* * *

Steph doesn’t know _what_, exactly, Oswald Cobblepot has against her, but she knows it must be something. 

Maybe he’s related to an empty warehouse that burned down because a teenager was smoking in it? 

The point is, it’s only October, and Steph’s grades are already pretty thoroughly in the tank, even with Duke _and _Tim helping her with her homework this year. 

And her mom, for once, doesn’t have a shift that overlaps parent-teacher conferences, so she’s going to go to Steph’s conference, and she’s going to see that Steph is flunking everything, and then she’s going to ground Steph _again_. 

And to make matters worse, Steph’s been volun-told to be on the _decorating _committee. 

What kind of parent-teacher conference needs a decorating committee? 

At least it makes keeping her promise to Jason pretty easy. She can’t patrol if she’s at the school, and if she’s busy being killed by her mom, she won’t be able to go out and hunt for weirdly-named-vampires. 

“I think you did a pretty good job!” Tim says, looking around at the decorations and the buffet. 

“Thanks!” Steph says, shoving a glass at him. “I made punch.”

“How much sugar did you put in it?” Tim says, taking a sip. 

_Whoops_. “It’s... sugar free?” 

Tim spits it out, making a face. “_Steph_!” 

“Whoops?” 

“This is awful, I’m going to go get some sugar for this,” Tim says, wiping his mouth. “Don’t let anyone drink this until I get back.”

“But who will help me keep Oswald away from my mom?” Steph says, only slightly panicking. 

“You’ll have Harper, stop whining.” 

Steph gestures vaguely as Tim exits the school, and then groans as she sees Crystal Brown enter the school. 

“Mom!” She runs up and hugs her tightly.

“There you are,” Crystal hugs her back. “You were up bright and early this morning, weren’t you?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” Steph says, as vaguely as possible. 

“It’s okay. I’m just glad I can see you here! I haven’t been to one of your conferences in ages.” 

Steph’s stomach sinks as she tries to think of which of her teachers might have something at least vaguely positive to stay about her. 

The answer she comes up with is... not encouraging. 

“Ah, Ms. Brown,” Oswald says, and oh. That’s not good at _all_. “Do you mind if I have a moment?” 

Steph’s stomach plunges down towards the very core of the Earth. 

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Harper says. 

“I’m going to be grounded for a _year_.” 

“Don’t you sneak out at night anyways?” 

“Yes, but when I’m grounded, she takes my phone.” 

“Oh. That sucks.” 

The two of them stare towards the direction of the office where Oswald and Crystal Brown are meeting in. 

“It was nice knowing you?” 

“See if I save you next time.” 

The door opens and a _very _angry looking Crystal Brown emerges. Harper decides that discretion is the better part of valor and flees, leaving Steph alone to take the full brunt of a disappointed mother. 

“Hi?” 

“Car. Now.” 

Steph shrinks. She’s taller than her mother—a mark of her father’s legacy—but right now, she feels a lot smaller.

She’s only made a few steps towards the door, mentally planning her text to Bruce to explain she won’t be able to answer texts or calls probably ever again, when the doors fly open. 

A man is standing there, his face painted in the bright colors of a clown, his hair dyed green, wearing a purple suit, and his vampiric teeth fully visible. 

If the sight of a normal vampire is a handful of snow dropped down the back of her shirt to her vampiric senses, this man is like being drowned in an icy lake. She can’t stop the gasp breaking out from her, the overwhelming _feeling _of him blotting out all of her other senses. Anyone could have snuck up on her, and she wouldn’t sense them coming, because all of her attention is laser-focused on him. 

Jason was right, without a doubt. Here was, in front of her, the most dangerous vampire she’d ever encountered. 

“It’s been so _long_!” The Joker declares.

“Run!” Steph yells.

She grabs her mother by the hand and leads all of the parents and teachers—including Oswald, of course—to the nearest classroom. 

* * *

Tim gets the text from Harper about the Joker at the school, and he immediately turns around and goes to get Jason. 

Jason’s crypt continues to be one of the worst living situations that Tim’s ever seen, and he had a brief stint in boarding school, where he witnessed dozens of pre-teen and teenage boys living without supervision. 

But it’s certainly easy enough to get to, so he hammers on the door of Jason’s crypt, and mentally vows to get Jason a cell phone after this, because going to a graveyard in an emergency is _not _fun. 

Jason opens up the door quickly enough. 

“The Joker’s at the school. And he’s definitely looking for Steph.” 

If vampires could blanch, Jason would definitely do that right now, but as it is, Jason’s eyes bug out more than a group of fruit flies who just learned that it was peach season. 

“Let’s go,” Jason says. “_Now_.” 

The trip to the school is sped up by Tim’s electric scooter, but really, Tim needs to buy a car, because arguing with a vampire about who has to hold on to whose waist is just ridiculous. 

They break into the school through the roof and take out three of the Joker’s minions before they finally encounter the vampire himself. 

“Slaaaaayer! Come out and plaaaaaay!” A blonde woman in a red and black checkered dress yells, carrying an axe and standing on a table. 

“Harley Quinn,” Jason breathes in Tim’s ear. “She’s nearly as dangerous as the Joker.” 

“I think she’s hiding, Harls!” the Joker himself finally speaks. His voice is raspy, like he’s swallowed an entire knife drawer, and he tosses his wavy green hair around. What kind of vampire _is _he? No ordinary person would look at him and think he was normal. “What do you say we smoke her out?” 

“I’ve got an idea,” Jason says. “Just play along.”

Oh, this is going to _suck_. 

Jason grabs him by the collar, yanks him around the corner that they’re hiding behind, and yells. “Harley! Jay!” 

“Jay Jay!” Harley Quinn yells, and, okay, _what_? 

“Well!” The Joker says, and he’s turning to face them now, and Tim recoils, despite Jason’s grip, which has shifted to his hair, forcing him to be doubled down. “The prodigal kiddo returns!” 

The Joker smells of stale blood, and he moves closer to embrace Jason. 

“You’re okay!” Harley says, standing on her tiptoes to press a hand against Jason’s face, in a form of twisted affection. “We thought ya were dust!” 

“Had some scores I had to settle, Harley,” Jason says, and Tim watches, mesmerized despite the pain in his head, as Jason bends down to press a kiss against her cheek. Harley giggles loudly. “Sorry to worry you.” 

“I told her you were too tough to go dust!” The Joker slaps Jason on the back. “Now, what are you doing here? Have you met this new Slayer-Gal yet?” 

“She's cute. Not too bright, though,” Jason says, and there’s something mocking and vicious in his voice that makes Tim, for the first time, _scared _of him. “Gave the puppy dog, I'm a tortured soul act. Keeps her off my back while I have my fun.” 

“The old Anne Rice routine!” The Joker crows. “Oh, that one’s a _classic_, kiddo.” 

Tim struggles against the grip in his hair, remembering Jason’s words. “I knew you were lying you—liar!” 

Yeah, he deserves that eye roll from Jason there. 

“Who’s this then?” 

“One of her flunkies,” Jason says. “Thought he’d be a good appetizer.” He yanks Tim forward, baring his neck to the Joker, and Tim’s heart does its best reenactment of the chest burster from _Alien_. “Want a bite, old man?” 

“Why so scared, Jay Jay?” Harley asks. “She’s just a _Slayer_!”

“Scared?” 

“Time was, you’d have killed her already, kiddo,” the Joker says. “Now look at you. This tortured soul thing is an act, right? You're not actually housebroken?” 

There’s something dangerous there, lying beneath the surface, and Tim keeps himself _very _still. 

“I saw her kill the Black Mask while barely able to stand up because of blood loss,” Jason scowls. “But hey, you want to take her alone, be my guest. I’ll just dine and dash.” He shakes Tim painfully, and Tim can’t stop his shout of pain. 

“Don’t be silly, kiddo!” The Joker says. “We’re _family_. We’ll do it together.” 

Tim shouts and tries to jerk away, but while Jason’s eyes are on him, the Joker slams his fist into Jason’s face. 

“C’mon kiddo, you’re one of _mine_. Did you really think you can fool me?” The Joker takes a step towards them, and Jason throws Tim backwards, away from danger. Tim hits the tile floor hard, and lies there for a moment, winded. “Guess you’re not my kid anymore, huh?” 

“Things change!”

“Uh-huh. Not us. Not demons.” He sighs. “Harley!” 

Harley steps forward, still holding her axe. “Sorry ‘bout this, Jay Jay,” she says, and Tim, from his position on the floor, thinks there are tears in her eyes. Can vampires cry? Is that a thing? 

“Not as sorry as I am,” Jason says, his voice soft for a moment. 

Then he throws a table at Harley and runs, grabbing Tim as he goes. 

“You’re running?” 

“Steph wouldn’t let me live if I got you killed!” 

The sound of fighting breaks out behind them. 

“Steph’s got this,” Jason says, looking relieved, before shoving Tim out a window. 

Lying on the ground outside of the school, Tim reconsiders his life choices. 

“So when you were pretending to feed me to him, how come you didn't punch him before he punched you?” 

“I couldn’t make the first move, idiot,” Jason says, landing perfectly as he jumps out the window. Tim really needs to hang out with normal people more. “I had to see if he was buying it or not.” 

“And if he bit me?” 

“Then I would have known he bought it,” Jason says, and he’s got a smirk on his face. Jerk. 

Tim props himself up on his elbows. “So. He turned you into a vampire, huh?”

Jason’s smirk vanishes. “Don’t tell Steph, okay?” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s... what I was. What I did. Before the soul. It was bad, Tim. And... she doesn’t need to know that stuff. She’s got enough going on.” 

“She won’t be mad at you.” 

“Worse,” Jason says, helping Tim up. “She’ll feel _sorry_ for me.” 

Tim sighs. “Okay. I won’t tell.” 

Jason grins at him slightly. 

“I _am_ telling her that you nearly fed me to a vampire, though.” 

“Yeah, okay, fair.” 

* * *

Why is it that air vents are never as large as they seem to be in the movies? Bruce Willis never had to deal with this. 

Steph hears voices below, and one of them is obviously the Joker’s, so she grips her sword (thank God for emergency locker stashes) tightly and lets herself fall out of the ceiling. 

The Joker is there, without any weapons, and his sidekick is nowhere to be seen.

“Slayer,” he greets her. He licks his lips. “You know... last time I killed one of you... she begged. Do you think you will?” He takes a step closer. 

“Sorry, you’re not my type,” Steph says. “Like, _really _not my type.” She swings her sword at him. 

He’s good, that’s what’s terrifying. He moves fast, and he’s strong, and no matter how many hits Steph dishes out, he just takes them and takes them, and then throws the plates back at her. 

Okay, maybe she lost control of that metaphor there, but the point is, Steph’s losing.

And not just a little. 

The Joker throws her against a wall, and Steph’s head slams against the concrete blocks and she falls to the ground, dazed. 

“Mm, less good than I hoped,” the Joker muses. “No point turning you, I think. You sure you’re the Slayer? That doesn’t sound _right_.” 

“Get the hell away from my daughter!” 

That’s when Crystal Brown hits the Joker with an axe. 

“Mom!” Steph gets to her feet in an instant, recovered and ready to kill _anyone _who so much as looks at her mother.

The Joker lets out a laugh. 

“Maybe not! See you around!” 

The sound of glass shattering fills Steph’s ears as the Joker makes his escape. 

“Mom?” Steph asks. 

“No one lays a finger on my little girl,” Crystal says, looking for all the world like Ellen Ripley, but with an axe. 

“That was _awesome_,” Steph says fervently. 

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Crystal says, dropping the axe and hugging Steph tightly. 

Steph hugs her back tightly. 

“Uh, so... what did you and Mister Oswald talk about?” 

“Oh, he said you were a troublemaker. But I don’t care. I’ve got a daughter who’s strong and brave and can look after herself. She’s brave and resourceful and thinks of others when there's a crisis. No matter who you hang out with or what dumb teenage stuff you think you have to do, I'm gonna sleep better knowing all that.” 

“So I’m not grounded?” 

“You get a reprieve.” 

“_Yes_!” 

* * *

There’s a new student, and Tim _definitely _has a crush. 

“I just like his jacket!” 

“Uh-huh,” Steph says. “Then why are we at the Cave, listening to his band play?” 

_Young, But Just Us _is... okay, Steph supposes, even if their songs are a little heavy on “Screw the system but screw my dad in particular.” Which is a solid theme, but Steph would like a little variety.

But she has to admit “My Dad’s A CEO, Of Course He’s Evil” is a pretty catchy song. 

Conner Kent is a dark haired, punk looking guy with a penchant for _very _tight jeans and hair gel. 

He’s cute enough, Steph supposes, but she doesn’t entirely get what the fuss is about. 

* * *

“Hey broody,” Steph greets, walking into the cemetery. 

Jason, unlike the rest of them, hasn’t changed a bit over the summer. He’s even still wearing the same hoodie.

“Don’t call me that,” he says, broodily, stubbing out his cigarette on the grave he’s sitting on. 

“Fine,” Steph rolls her eyes, but hands over the Ziplock bag of pig’s blood she’d grabbed from the butcher’s that evening, just as they were closing. They’re used to it by now, and she doesn’t get questions. There are no questions, not in a town like Gotham, not for a girl with an overly bright smile who brings kids home safe from school. “Here you go, _Red Hood_.”

The Red Hood makes a face at his official title, but accepts the blood, flicking his cigarette against the ground and pressing his heel against it to snuff out any remaining spark. “You know I hate that name.”

“_Jason_, then,” Steph says, exasperated. No one ever told her that vampires were so… _fussy_. Jason usually was in a worse mood than usual, too. “What have you got for me?”

Steph isn’t sure _when _Jason started getting angrier than usual, but it’s got her on edge. 

Jason shakes his head. “The Joker is still on the loose. I really thought that he’d have left town by now.” 

“And that sidekick of his, Harley Quinn,” Steph points out. Jason flinches, but he’s subtle about it, and one of these days, Steph _will _get that story out of him. 

“How’s your Watcher?” Jason asks, tucking his bag of blood into his jacket. Steph wonders if they’ve ever exploded there, or if he’s _very _careful.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Steph says, any trace of her good mood dusted like vampires in the sunlight. “Not until one of you explains what’s going _on_.”

Jason stays quiet, just like Bruce does whenever she broaches the Red Hood to him.

Bruce gets _weird _every time she passes along Jason’s information. Normally, she wouldn’t blame him—the Red Hood is an infamous and dangerous vampire, before he got a soul... somehow. Steph’s never gotten a clear answer on that one. 

But Steph doesn’t think that Bruce is uncomfortable around Jason because of his kill count. She never has. Because Jason acts about Bruce the way that Bruce acts about Jason.

Which is to say—weird as hell. 

* * *

Tim has been operating as the substitute Computer Science teacher at Gotham ever since the Black Mask’s hench-vampires brutally murdered their last one. It’s not official or anything, and Tim’s kind of a horrible teacher, but with Harper’s help, the two of them have managed to loosely guide the class through the curriculum. 

But still, when the word comes that the school has finally managed to find someone to take the job, the only tears that are shed in the library are joyful ones. 

Surprisingly, though, Steph first meets her in the library, when she’s swinging by first thing in the morning to drop off her favorite sword for a sharpening. Bruce is usually pretty strict about her taking care of her own weapons, but this sword requires a special whetstone that Bruce doesn’t trust her with, so as long as she keeps it clean, he sharpens it for her. 

This might play a role in why it’s her favorite sword. 

But as she makes her way into the library, carrying a trombone case that Harper lent her to transport her larger weapons in—no one in school has mentioned that Steph isn’t in band, which is either very nice or very oblivious of them—she stops dead in her tracks.

There’s an adult in the library. 

And that just doesn’t happen. 

Bruce doesn’t have _friends, _especially not amongst the other teachers. Maybe he has a social life outside of the library and Watcher-ing, but Steph has seen _no _evidence of this. The man doesn’t even have a _Snapchat_, which means he’s still blissfully aware of some of the selfies that Steph has taken with demons that were trying to kill her at the time. 

(Harper has threatened to tell Bruce about them, which Duke, Steph, and Tim agree makes Harper the narc of their group.)

But all of this leads to how the woman standing in front of Steph is _completely _out of place in the library. 

She’s on the shorter side, with glossy black hair, and is wearing a pencil skirt and a deep green shirt with loose sleeves. That’s all Steph can really tell, because the woman is facing away from her, arguing with Bruce. 

“This town _isn’t safe_,” Bruce is saying hotly. 

“And it is safe for you? Or the Slayer?” The woman tosses her hair over her shoulder, a technique so practiced and refined that Steph wishes she had filmed it to study later. “You forget; I am hardly helpless.” 

Bruce opens his mouth to respond, but is side-tracked by looking over the woman’s shoulder and seeing Steph, who is _absolutely _eavesdropping, but is also completely shameless on that subject, because a teacher’s social life is only one of the greatest pieces of gossip she can ever get her hands on, and this is her _Watcher’s _social life, at that. 

... also, this woman clearly knows about magic and monsters and Slayers, so there’s that.

“Stephanie,” Bruce says. “You’re early.”

“I just had some... books. To return.” 

“Books,” Bruce repeats. 

“In a trombone case? That can hardly be good for their spine.” 

The woman’s voice is rich and deep, her accent the kind of polished, grammatically perfect, way that indicates the kind of education that... well, that Bruce has, and Steph looks at her as she turns around. 

“Talia Head,” the woman introduces herself, smiling elegantly. “I am the new Computer Science teacher at this institution.” 

“Oh! Nice to meet you,” Steph says, accepting Ms. Head’s hand when offered. The _way _she offers it somehow manages to imply that Steph should probably be bowing and pressing it against her forehead, but that just might be because of the sheer poise with which she conveys herself. “I’m—”

“Stephanie Brown. The Vampire Slayer. Yes, I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

Steph drops the woman’s hand quickly and looks at Bruce for reassurance. 

“Talia is an old acquaintance of mine,” Bruce says, doing his best impression of having the emotional reaction of a rock. He’s failing, but the effort is there. If this isn’t an old bonfire, or at least an old flame, Steph will eat Harper’s trombone slide. 

“So you’re with the Council?” Steph asks, not sure if she likes that. Any organization that employed her dad... 

Well. 

She’s not exactly predisposed to be a fan, to say the least. 

Talia laughs. “No, not at all.” She smiles. “I’m a techno-witch.”

“Is that like a techno-pagan?” Steph blurts out, because Tim has been talking about _dabbling _in that field. 

“I’m not a pagan, so, no. However, my magic does work best through technology, and so, despite the religious disparity, there are many similarities.”

“Oh. Well, I think Tim’s Jewish?” 

_Why does she ever open her mouth? _

Talia smiles indulgently.

“I’m sure you have classes soon.”

“Right. Um.” She puts Harper’s trombone case on Bruce’s desk and runs away as fast as if she’s seen...

Well, as if she’s just seen her Watcher’s ex show up out of the blue and accidentally interrupted a conversation between them. 

She doesn’t really have a good metaphor for this one, she just knows she’s _booking it_. 

* * *

Talia is a pretty great teacher, so Tim and Harper are breathing a lot easier. Talia’s shown up at the library a few times to give advice, or to help translate a few ancient documents about the Joker from Classical Arabic. 

It’s on one such occasion, Talia carefully typing out her translation of a description of a slaughter-field on her sleek silver laptop that seems to be devoid of any branding at all, that Jason shows up. 

He’s been getting better, lately, about coming in through the doors, rather than appearing out of the maintenance tunnels, and so he throws open the swinging doors dramatically, his leather unzipped, his hair dramatically tousled, when he draws up to a halt. 

“Talia?” He asks, his voice suddenly softer than Steph has ever heard it. 

“Jason,” Talia says with a faint, sad looking smile. 

For the first time ever, Steph stops to consider how long Jason’s been a vampire.

Because if he knew Talia... who can’t be older than... forty? Maybe? Possibly somewhere in her thirties? 

That means that Jason has to be pretty _young_, especially considering how dangerous and powerful he was supposed to be, before he ended up with the soul that gave him one of the most potent cases of kicked-puppy eyes that Steph has ever seen. 

Steph looks away, unsure of what to do about this. 

When she looks up again, Jason is gone. 

“I’ll go after him,” Steph says, grabbing her bag and making a run for it. 

Because Jason is her friend, and he’s clearly _upset_, and that’s... not a good feeling, if she’s being honest with herself. 

She finds him in a graveyard; not the graveyard where his weirdly morbid bed-crypt is, but instead, one in the nicer part of town.

He’s sitting with his back against a grave, a cigarette hanging listlessly from his fingers, staring into the air, his expression placing itself solidly in “brooding” territory. 

He looks... young. Steph doesn’t know how she feels about any of it, about any of this. 

“Jason?” 

“Blondie. What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you. Scoot over.” 

He moves over, but it’s clearly reluctant. 

“You know Talia?”

Jason snorts, bitter. “You could say that.”

Steph sighs. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she admits. “But Jay... I know something’s up. I know you’ve seen my grades and all, but I’m not _stupid_.” 

“I don’t think you are.” 

“Then stop acting like you do!” Steph snaps. “I _know _something’s up, and it’s got to do with Bruce and the Joker and you, and now apparently Talia is involved, and I _know _you’ve told Tim at least something, but you’re not being honest with me!” 

Jason gets to his feet, tossing his cigarette to the side. 

“Stand up, Blondie.” 

“What, are we fighting? I’m warning you; I’ll kick your ass.” 

“Just shut up and do it.” 

Frowning, Steph gets to her feet. 

“Turn around.”

“If this is you trying to bite me, I’ve heard better pitches.” 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

“You really should know the answer to that better by now.” 

Jason’s sigh is almost as funny as Bruce’s. “Just... do it.” 

She does, and then stops in her tracks. 

She had been leaning against a gravestone; she knew that. It wasn’t the first time that she had done so. She had far less respect for cemeteries than most people as an unfortunate side-effect of nearly dying in them on a daily basis. She’s bled all over flower arrangements, used a headstone as a bludgeon, used abandoned shovels to stake vampires, and tripped and fallen into pre-dug graves. 

She hadn’t even stopped to think before sitting down. Hadn’t even thought to look to see _who_, exactly, Jason and she were sitting on top of. 

No one was the answer. 

Because the headstone read: HERE LIES JASON TODD, BELOVED SON OF BRUCE WAYNE. 

The dates are only a decade ago. 

“... you’re Bruce’s _kid_?” 

“Adopted,” Jason says.

“He’s a Watcher,” Steph says, her lips numb. Jason had been _seventeen_. “He should’ve... he should’ve known that—”

“That I was coming back?” Jason’s laugh is bitter and heavy. “He wasn’t in town. He was on assignment from the Council, and I was staying with my birth mom. The Joker came to town and threatened my mom. I tried to fight him. Got turned. By the time Bruce came back, we were long gone.” 

Steph swallows. She doesn’t ask after Jason’s mom. She’s heard similar enough stories, over the years. 

“Went on a bit of a rampage. Killed a lot of people. Killed a Slayer. Then, eventually, I fought with the Joker, went my own way.” He shrugs. “Killed some people I shouldn’t have. Brought me to the attention of Talia. Talia knew me from back in the day; used to date Bruce and all. She managed to get her hands on one of the most powerful anti-vampire curses in history.”

“She gave you a soul. That’s a curse?”

Jason snorts. “Blondie. I remember everybody I’ve killed. I have to deal with that. Every single, stupidly long, day. I can hear their screams, every time I fall asleep. Every time I look at someone, I think about how much they look like someone who I _ate_. I nearly killed my dad more times than I can _count_, because the idiot wouldn’t just... Yeah, it’s a curse.” 

“Oh.” 

Jason snorts. “Yeah. Oh.” 

“So the Joker knows you?”

“He’s my sire.” 

Steph stares at Jason’s grave. “He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?” 

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

“I don’t think either of us is going to get more of a choice about it.” She puts her hand on his arm. “Thanks. For telling me.” 

“You were right. You deserve to know. It’s not like the Joker’s going to keep his mouth shut.”

“I should get back,” Steph sighs. “Bruce will want me to patrol.” 

“I’ll join you. I should... I should thank Talia. I guess.”

“And talk to Bruce?” 

“Don’t push it, Blondie.” 

“Oh! I just realized! How old are you?” 

“Twenty-eight.” 

“No, you’re _seventeen_!” 

“I’m not—”

“How long have you been seventeen?” 

“I’m going to kill you.”

“_A_ _while_!” 

“I’m going for the record, I’m going to kill more Slayers than anyone, I swear to God—”

* * *

So Steph is _definitely _straight. 

This kind of sucks, if Harper is being honest with herself, because Steph is _really _cute, and to be honest, she looks even better when her hair is tousled and she’s carrying a big weapon, and Steph is both of those things _very _frequently. 

But Steph is straight! And that’s okay! 

It just means that Harper needs to get over it, so she says yes when Claire Clover asks her out on a date. 

Later that night, tied to an altar as a human sacrifice, Harper wonders if she should raise her standards just a little bit. 

* * *

“Let me get this straight,” Steph says, pinching the bridge of her nose with one hand. 

“There’s nothing straight about this situation,” Harper pipes up, enjoying all of this too much. Tim makes a very rude gesture at her. Duke gives her a high-five. 

“So the hot guy you have a crush on—” 

“That’s me,” Conner Kent says, shameless and shirtless. Steph refuses to look at him, because she’s not entirely sure he’s not _pant_-less as well, or if the scraps of denim are from his jean-jacket, or his pants. 

“He’s a werewolf.” 

“Admittedly, that one’s a surprise to me as well.” 

“And you found this out, locked him in the book-cage...”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time!” 

“And now he’s your boyfriend, he’s naked, and he’s destroyed at least one of Bruce’s valuable books, which _you _left in there, because you stole them out of his office, and you can’t find the key to the cage.” 

“Correct!” Conner gives her a thumbs up, completely unashamed about his own nakedness. 

Tim’s face is buried in his hands and his ears and neck are approximately the color of a tomato. “Can you fix this?” He says, his voice muffled. 

“You owe me._ So much._” 

“I know.”

“I really want to know why you’re not more freaked out by me being a werewolf, honestly,” Conner admits, lounging against the bars of the book cage. “But I think that can wait until I’ve got pants. And maybe a shirt.” 

Steph points at him. “You. Turn around.” 

“This is discrimination,” Conner complains, even as he does what she says. 

“I am going to break you out of a metal cage with my bare hands, just _do what I say._” 

“... can’t you just go get the spare key?” Duke asks, his chin propped up on his hand as he surveys the scene. 

“Why would I do that when I can bend metal bars?” 

“You can do what?” Conner demands. 

“You’ll see,” Tim says, blushing faintly, averting his eyes away from his very naked boyfriend. 

“So does this make you a furry?” Duke asks Tim, looking far too amused about the situation. “Or is only Kon the furry, and you’re just very accepting—” 

“I hate everything,” Steph declares to no one in particular, before going to see how much damage she can do to Bruce’s book cage. 

* * *

“This Slayer’s a weird one, Mister J,” Harley says. The taste of blood is heavy on her tongue and sour in the back of her throat, but she’s used to it by now. The first time Mister J had shown her what it was like, she had been sick. Now it’s easier than anything, and he likes that. 

She lowers her binoculars, frowning. “She’s got _friends, _Mister J. I thought those Watcher people don’t like that happening?” 

“They don’t,” he says, all relaxed and comfortable in the shadows. The body of their dinner is at his feet, still moaning quietly. “That’s _interesting_.” 

“Our Jay Jay is one of them. He’s hanging on to every word she _says_, like she’s some sort of...” Harley gestures vaguely with her hands. 

“He’s not our kid anymore, Harl,” Mister J says. He reaches out and cups her face in his hands, all gentle-like, and Harley melts, knowing that she’s still his girl, no matter how long it’s been. “He’s all shiny and bright now, got himself a soul, so he doesn’t need _us _anymore.”

“Oh,” Harley says, soft. She _misses _Jason. It was a lot easier to handle Mister J when he was around. They all worked so much better as a _family_, see, and it’s just not the _same without_ him. 

“Don’t worry, doll face! I’ve picked out a new kid for us. We just need to be a little patient.” 

“Really, Mister J?” Harley says, clapping her hands. “You mean it?” 

“Of course I do! Now, take dinner here back to the cellar, okay? I think we’ve got one more meal out of him yet.” 

Harley kisses him on the cheek and skips over to him. He’s got bite marks on his arms and his neck, but Harley’s put her old medical degree to good work and bandaged him up all nice. Only the two fresh ones are bleeding, sluggishly, but the smell of it fills the air. 

“Please,” he begs. “Let me go.” 

“Can’t do that, sugar,” Harley says, patting him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Doctor Quinn is going to look right after you, okay?” 

She picks him up easily, and takes him downstairs, humming to herself. 

* * *

“I’m telling you, it’s a bad idea, Blondie,” Jason says. 

“He’s your _dad_. He misses you!” 

“He’s an asshole.” 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“It’s not happening, okay? It’s fine as things are.” 

“You’re living in a _crypt_, Jason.” 

“I’m a vampire, it’s an aesthetic choice.”

“It’s a bad one. Like that hoodie you wear.” Steph sniffs. “Couldn’t you at least wear leather pants, if you’re going for the brooding vampire look?” 

“You _wish _I would wear leather pants.” 

“Not really, I just think it would be funny.” 

“Jeeze, way to stake my fragile male ego.” 

“It needs staking. Even Tim and Duke’s need staking, every now and then—and wow, that sounded cleaner in my head.” 

“Did it really?” 

Steph shrugs. “Probably not.” 

He laughs, a sound that she’s hearing more and more often, these days, which is good. 

“Well, if you’re not going to go visit your dad, will you at least consider sparring with me?” 

“It’s a bad idea.” 

“No, it’s a _great _idea! You’re as strong as I am, I won’t have to worry about breaking you!” 

“You mean you won’t feel guilty about kicking my ass.” 

“Tim whines _so much_, Jason,” Steph says, doing her best effort at puppy eyes, but he just laughs at her. 

“Do you need a ride? You should probably be getting back.” Jason had managed to get his hand on an over the top red sports car recently, and he was using every opportunity to rub in the fact that Steph had failed her driver’s test _again_. Never mind that Jason is legally dead and he doesn’t have a license either, but he won’t let her drive, which would be massively unfair if the car wasn’t a manual. 

Steph shakes her head, making a face at him. “You know, I’m going to pass that test eventually.” 

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Blondie.” 

Steph puts her hands in her pockets and walks back towards the school. She needs to check in with Bruce, and then check her winter weather Slaying gear, before winter starts in earnest. 

Winter in Gotham _sucks_, in Steph’s unbiased opinion. As a California girl, she’s still not sure how she’s supposed to react when confronted with all of this ice, sleet, and occasionally snow nonsense. It’s not like vampires take a break from hunting and eating during the winter, so it means that Slayers don’t get a break either. 

At least, that’s what Bruce says, and Steph _guesses _she has to listen to him, at least on this subject. 

She’s almost at the main road when the attack comes. 

Her assailant is short and thin, wearing an ancient looking puffy black parka, and she slams into Steph with vampiric speed. 

The second she hits Steph, Steph’s senses go haywire, her entire body becoming alive with nerve endings, the entire world becoming brighter and sharper. 

The first hit lands. The second hit doesn’t. Steph catches her punch and kicks out at her, forcing the vampire away from her. 

It’s the kind of fight that Steph has nightmares about. The vampire, who looks to be about Steph’s age, is faster and stronger than her, and Steph knows that if she doesn’t think fast, she’s going to end up dead. 

Steph feints right and makes a move to go left where she can hopefully make it onto the road and get to the school, but the vampire doesn’t fall for it and darts forward, grabbing Steph’s throat with a death grip that’s already squeezing the breath right out of her.

And freezes. 

Steph struggles, clawing at the vampire’s supernaturally strong grip, her heart racing as she fights to keep the oxygen in her system. 

Suddenly, the vampire drops her, and Steph lands painfully on the ground, gasping for air. 

“Who are you?” The vampire demands. 

“You attacked me! That’s my question!” 

The vampire crosses her arms. She’s pretty, that’s Steph’s first thought as she rubs at her neck. Pretty, with dark hair in a bob cut, and scars across her cheek and neck. 

“I am Cassandra. The Vampire Slayer.” 

“_What_?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: Changed Talia's name from "Talia al Ghul" to Talia Head, for nefarious purposes.


	3. whisper in a dead man’s ear: part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double the Slayers, double the trouble. 
> 
> As new allies arrive in Gotham to assist with the mystery of the second Slayer Cassandra Cain, the Joker prepares to make a move that change their lives forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Long time no see!
> 
> Sorry gang, a lot has been happening these past two months. I've moved two and a half times, I've gone on vacation, I've started grad school, I've gotten a cat... it's been busy. But fear not! I live, and this fic is continuing. 
> 
> Now, this chapter has some SERIOUS warnings here, because we're getting some Harley Quinn background, and the Joker exists. Warnings for: enthrallment, brainwashing, abusive relationships, excessive references to blood, minor character death, grief, and loss.

Cassandra Cain is sixteen years old, and she’s not really bothered about how she’s probably going to be dead before the year is done. 

Her father has raised her for this, and this alone. She is a weapon, forged by his hand, to be wielded by the Council, to push back against the forces of demons in the world. 

Because of him—her Watcher, her father—she was perfectly prepared for that moment when the last Slayer died, and the power flooded through her. 

She hadn’t noticed right away; the change was a subtle thing, and for her, perhaps even more than for most of the girls like her around the world, the ones the Council calls “Potentials”.

As a Potential, her destiny had been to learn, to train every day, until she was too old, and then... she wasn’t actually sure what happened, then, after. Her father, her Watcher, he had been _so sure _that she would be Chosen, that the gifts would be hers. 

But as the Slayer, her destiny is a different creature altogether. She has been transformed, from someone ordinary, to a perfect weapon, destined to fight against the forces of darkness. 

She has been Called, and as such, she will tolerate no demon, no vampire, to stand in her way. 

Traditionally, a Slayer is to defend their home, since it is taught that the Powers select a Slayer for location, more than for any virtue of the Slayer herself, but... that’s not an option. 

So, Cassandra has decided to go to the hunting grounds of the _last _Slayer, because even if the other Slayer had finished the job, it might contain clues for where Cass should go next.

Gotham is fine. It’s very different from Macao, but that is not necessarily a bad thing. 

It does, however, have _many _vampires. Cassandra has only been in town for an hour, and already she has fought and staked three. 

She holds Mister Pointy tightly, as she observes the two vampires meeting, from her position, hidden within the branches of a tree. 

The male vampire, she recognizes from her father’s books. Vampires can’t be photographed, so the pictures of him are all drawings, but the artist managed to capture this vampire adequately, down to the streak of white in his hair. 

The Red Hood. 

He is a very dangerous vampire and has killed a Slayer previously. Cassandra looks forward to staking him through the heart. 

The blonde speaking to him is unusual. Their banter is light and easy, and Cassandra has been watching them for a while. The easy affection falling between them is strange. Perhaps this is romance? Vampires can’t love, not really, but there is lust enough, and sometimes the vampires mistake that for love, according to her father’s lessons. 

But what is most fascinating about the blonde is that the Red Hood seems to defer to her. Not properly; not as if she were his sire, but there is respect there, and the way that he falls into step behind her... 

She looks harmless, with her soft waves of hair and strange clothes, but the Red Hood himself looks young enough, and who is to say what appearance a powerful vampire will take? It is all a matter of surviving long enough to come to understand the depths of power, and the random chance of how strong a demon ends up in the human corpse. 

Yes, it is best that she defeats the blonde first, even if Cassandra is eager to face down the vampire who succeeded in defeating a Slayer. 

She follows the vampire, light on her feet, and waits until she is distracted by the lights of the road before striking. 

The vampire reacts quickly, and Cass’s entire world suddenly collapses inwards, as every sense that she has shifts, the world tilting on its axis, focusing in on this girl, with her dark blue eyes and golden hair. The thrill of the hunt sings in Cass’s veins, and she follows up her initial attack, just as her father taught her to. 

The vampire dodges, which is rare, but not entirely unexpected. Cass is fast, faster than most vampires, even before she was Callen, and became stronger still.

She counters with a kick, which Cass ducks easily, although she can sense the power packed behind it. The kind of strength that only a vampire—or, in Cass’s case, a Slayer—can provide. 

Cass watches with a vague sense of pleasure as the vampire realizes that she’s outmatched and begins to plan her retreat. Perhaps she’s not as experience of a vampire as Cass had assumed, given how clearly she projects her plan to Cass’s enhanced senses. 

The feint is pathetically projected, and Cass is almost disappointed as she cuts off the vampire’s real method of escape, grabbing the vampire by the throat, preparing to reach into her jacket to fetch Mister Pointy to finish this off. 

But under her fingertips, she can feel a heartbeat, racing. 

Vampires don’t have heartbeats. 

She stares at the person in her grip, sees the flush in her cheeks, the way she’s struggling to breathe, and the undeniable warmth beneath Cass’s hands. 

The warmth of a body, living and breathing. 

Cass drops her instantly, her own heart thundering in her ears, loud enough to nearly drown out the _human’s_ desperate gasps for air. 

“Who are you?”

“You attacked me! That’s my question!” The girl’s voice is hoarse, but she’s already pulling herself up onto her knees, as if she’s expecting to have to fight again. 

“I am Cassandra,” Cass says, her chin going up with pride. No matter what has happened, she has been granted this gift, and she will treasure it. “The Vampire Slayer.” 

“_What_?” 

“The Vampire Slayer.” 

“No, I heard you! But that doesn’t make sense!” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because _I’m _the Vampire Slayer!” 

“Liar,” Cass says, her eyes narrowing. “You were... _socializing _with one of them.” 

“What, Jason? He’s—okay, I admit, that looks bad, but my Watcher says he’s okay—anyways, you can’t be the Slayer, because _I’m _her! And there’s only one!” 

“_You _can’t be the Slayer,” Cass says, reeling backwards as she stares at this girl with wide eyes. “Because I’m her!” She _knows_. There’s the power in her veins, the strength and speed in her body. There can’t be a _mistake_. 

The blonde groans, as if this is some sort of minor inconvenience, rather than Cass’s entire world falling apart. Cass... she _has _to be the Slayer. Father wouldn’t have lied to her about this... he couldn’t have. 

“Okay, we need to go find my Watcher. He can sort things out. Where’s yours?” 

“Gone.” That should be more painful than it is, but it’s simply true. 

“Right.” Some sort of understanding seems to blossom on the supposed-Slayer’s face. Well I’m Stephanie. Or Steph. Whichever you prefer.”

* * *

“So?” Steph asks, a nervous energy bubbling up in her chest, pulling her between laughter and tears. 

Cassandra _The Vampire Slayer _is impossible to ignore. She’s short in stature and slender in frame and covered in scars. She’s not even looking at Steph, with her entire focus centered upon Bruce, who sets down his cell phone carefully on the desk. 

“I’ve confirmed she is who she says she is, Stephanie.”

“But... _I’m _the Slayer.” 

She never wanted to be, but she _is_. It’s a fact of her life, just like the fact that she burned her dad to his death in a warehouse, just like the fact that her dreams have been full of fevered pictures of a little boy with green eyes dying in her arms, 

“But you died, Steph,” Tim says. “Remember?” 

Steph crosses her arms and reminds herself that the taste of salt on her lips is probably just sweat. “Oh. Right.” 

“Two Slayers?” Duke says, glancing up from the book he’s been reading. “That seems... unheard of.” 

“It is.” Bruce has a strange look on his face. “I’ll have to contact the Council, inform them of your whereabouts,” he says to Cassandra. “We’ll set up a place for you to stay, while they assign you a new Watcher.” 

“Why does she need a new Watcher? She’s here, isn’t she? She has you.” 

Bruce sighs. “I sincerely doubt that the Council will allow this... unusual situation to remain solely under my supervision.”

“One Watcher, one Slayer,” Cassandra says. “It is how things are meant to be.” 

The scar that the Black Mask left on her throat itches something awful. 

“Yeah, well, what’s the fun in doing things the right way?” Steph says, struggling for levity. It falls flat, and Cassandra just gives her a strange look. 

Steph meets Cassandra’s gaze, and feels it again; the strange magnetism, a bizarre feeling that makes her both want to move as close to her as possible, but also to run away, because this is not _right_, not _normal_. Steph’s instincts are clamoring loudly, unsure of how to react to this strange presence. 

Part of Steph wants to grab the nearest sword and fight, another part wants to flee and never come back, and the rest of her... 

Well. 

The rest of her seems to be having a bit of a crisis. 

Now is _not _the time for a gay awakening, but her brain has never done the smart thing, so here she is, definitely having one. 

“Where are you from?” Tim asks. “If it’s taken you this long to come to Gotham... I doubt you were Called nearby.” 

“Macao,” Cassandra says, shortly. “My Watcher trained me there.” 

“Wait, you’re already trained?” Harper demands. 

“Of course.” 

“Most Slayers are,” Bruce explains. “With some degree of accuracy, we’re able to pinpoint certain girls who are likely candidates to become the next Slayer. Typically, a Potential is raised by a Watcher, and trained with every preparation for her destiny. Stephanie is outside of the norm.” 

Steph flinches, despite herself. 

“Wait,” Tim says. “I thought your Dad was your Watcher, before Bruce?” 

Steph doesn’t meet any of their eyes. “Yeah but... that was mostly because he was there already. I wasn’t... raised that way.” 

“Explains a lot,” Cassandra says, and Steph bristles, even though she has no right. 

Bruce looks at Cassandra again. “Have you eaten? Let’s get you some food. I’ve got a spare bedroom; we can get you set up in there while we make arrangements with the Council.” 

Cassandra’s smile is brilliant, and Bruce places a hand on her shoulder and guides her out of the library. 

Steph’s stomach drops, and she immediately stops thinking about how pretty Cassandra’s smile is. 

“Oh,” she says, staring at the closed door. 

Bruce has a proper Slayer now. No need for the screw up who fed her dad to vampires and then burned him to death. 

“Right, I’m going back on patrol,” she says, not that Tim, Harper, or Duke seem to be listening. 

Jealousy is a lousy feeling, but here she is, feeling it anyways.

* * *

It feels like it only takes a matter of days before it’s as if Cass has been in Gotham her whole life, and absolutely proving without a shadow of a doubt that Steph is a horrible Slayer. 

Bruce adores her, and who can even blame him? Cass is _amazing_. She’s clever and quiet and better at Slaying than Steph and pretty and graceful and good with every weapon Bruce hands her. 

She’s the kind of Slayer that Bruce _wishes _he had been assigned, rather than an untrained screwup like Steph. 

Steph throws open the doors to the library, in a horrible mood after a school day spent trying to avoid Oswald’s attention and pass a French test—which she definitely failed, because of course she did, and draws to a complete stop, as she sees other people in the library. 

“You should have told us, Bruce!” The man yelling is shorter than Bruce, with long black hair, drawn into a ponytail. His hands are occupied grabbing Bruce by the lapels of his tweed suit. “You had no right—”

“You would have come, and then there would have been questions,” Bruce says. “I’m sorry, but it was—”

“Boys,” the woman says, looking right at Steph. She’s sitting down, with bright red hair, and thick rimmed glasses. “We’ve got company.”

The man lets go of Bruce immediately, and turns to face Steph. 

“Stephanie. You’re out of class early.”

“Mr. Dent let us go,” Steph says, squinting at the intruders. “Do I need to defend your honor? Or do you deserve it? I left my mace in my other backpack, but my Pre-Calc textbook is legally classified as a torture instrument, so I can improvise.” 

“Don’t worry, he deserves it,” the woman says dryly, cutting off Steph’s nervous rambling. “I’m Barbara Gordon, this is Dick Grayson. We’re from the Council.” 

Steph glances between the two of them, concerned. “Which of you is Cass’s new Watcher?” 

“Me, but that’s mostly a technicality,” Grayson is _unfairly _handsome, and he has _dimples_, which he unabashedly flashes at her. “Really, Bruce has it handled.” 

“So they sent two of you?” 

“I’m here to help Bruce keep the library in order,” Gordon says. “This situation has required for some... unusual acquisitions, and the Council wants to make sure that the books are looked after properly.” 

“Oh,” Steph says, unsure if she’s entirely happy about all of this. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Grayson, Ms. Gordon.”

“It’s Dick and Babs, Stephanie,” Babs says, raising an eyebrow. She manages to convey a whole lifetime of emotions with that one eyebrow lift, and Steph has a new icon. “We don’t really stand on formalities. What, does Bruce make you call him Mr. Wayne?” 

“He tried but I have a rebellious streak and trouble with authority,” Steph says, feeling a little bit of the residual anxiety that she’s been feeling in her chest ever since Cassandra showed up uncoil slightly. Maybe... 

“Dick will join you on patrol tonight,” Bruce says, cutting off pleasantries, because he’s an anti-social loner like that, and Steph’s definitely not allowed to have any fun. “You’ll be patrolling St. Cloud Cemetery.” 

Steph squints at him. “Shouldn’t Dick be going with... you know, his Slayer?” Not to mention, Jason usually kept vampires under control in St. Cloud Cemetery, since that was where his crypt was, but she wasn’t sure if she could talk about that in front of other Watchers. 

“No,” Bruce says. 

“Bruce—” Dick’s voice is low with a warning. “What are you planning?” 

“Probably just to make my life miserable,” Steph mutters, more for herself than for Dick, who hears it, and laughs. 

“Well, I guess we’ll figure it out,” he says. 

Steph shrugs. “I’ll meet you at the entrance to the cemetery,” she says, and then goes to find Harper, Tim, Duke, and Cass if she can find her, and update them on the situation. 

She’ll figure out what Bruce is plotting later. 

* * *

“Oh,” Steph says to herself, as she watches Dick Grayson hug Jason Todd tightly and sob. “That’s what he was plotting.”

* * *

Cass has declined to be enrolled in classes, because she’s a proper Slayer and thinks the time is better spent sleeping and training. 

Given that she’s an undocumented immigrant and basically a superhero with no use for either algebra or literary analysis, Steph can’t exactly fault her for that logic, even though she’d like to get to spend more time with her.

Cass is... great. 

Really great. 

“Want to patrol with me tonight?” Steph asks, unable to keep the hopeful note out of her voice. 

Whenever she and Cass patrol together, Steph fights... better. The two of them fall into sync, their abilities seeming to become exponentially more powerful. They don’t even need to speak (although Steph does, because she’s _her_), because it all simply... flows. The two of them fit together, in ways that Steph can’t even begin to describe. 

Cass feels it too, Steph knows she does, but Cass also is way better than her and has an independent streak, so she isn’t always interested in patrolling. 

“Sure,” Cass says, and Steph lights up immediately. 

“I’ll come too,” Dick says, picking up a crossbow. “We’re investigating that hatchery, right?” 

“That’s right,” Steph says. “They were giving them out in _health class_.” 

“Are they seriously doing eggs for those classes still?” Babs muses, flipping through one of her books. “The flour sack babies from our era were just as bad.”

“They changed it to eggs after you and Dick managed to cover the entirety of the Computer Lab in flour,” Bruce says dryly. 

“Bette Kane pretended to snort it like cocaine, I’m not going to feel guilty over a pillow fight.” 

Dick holds his hand over his heart and wipes away an imaginary tear. “Poor Zitka. I will never forget you!” 

“For the last time, his name was _not _Zitka; he was Jimmy.” 

“It was a sack of flour and the two of you killed it through malicious neglect.”

“It wasn’t _malicious_!” Dick protests. 

“Your choice of a bedtime story was Jason’s copy of _The Joy of Cooking_.” 

Steph’s eyes flicker between the three of them, completely and utterly fascinated by their behavior. 

“Anyways,” Dick says, finally realizing that they have an audience of teenagers, all of whom are watching the banter keenly. “Tim? Duke? Harper? Do you guys want to come along?” 

“I’ve got to go home and help Cullen with his homework,” Harper says, shaking her head. 

“Duke and Tim are helping me tonight, actually,” Babs says. “Sorry boys, no evil eggs for you tonight.” 

Duke shrugs. “Well, there are worse things than not having to deal with another one of those egg things. As it is, I already had to hit DJ with a hammer.” 

“I am going to fail Health,” Tim groans, apparently still traumatized by the memory of Steph going after his midterm project with an axe, even though it had tried to kill him before she’d done so. 

“If it makes you feel better, I’m going to fail it too,” Duke offers. 

Tim pauses, considering this information. “Do you know what? I do feel better.” 

Steph snickers, and goes to get her katana. 

* * *

Duke’s head hurts something awful. 

“Duke? _Duke_!” 

“Not so loud,” he mutters, batting away the hands that are reaching for him—hang on, those hands are pale. “Tim?” 

“Thank God, you’re awake,” Tim says. “We’re in some sort of... creepy dungeon place.” 

“Wha—oh right. The vampires.” Duke rubs his head and sits up. Just as Tim said, this place has fully mastered the creepy dungeon vibe. The walls appear to be rough stone blocks kept in place by concrete, with one of the walls made entirely of metal bars so rusty that Duke wants a tetanus shot just for being near them. Past the bars is a staircase, leading up to... somewhere. The lighting is bad, only coming from a single bulb inside of their cave-cage, and then from down the stairs, but it’s enough for them to maneuver by, at least. “Not to complain, but why are we alive?” 

“Oh good! You’re awake! Mister J will be happy ‘bout that!” 

The woman leaning against the bars of their cell is a short, bottle-blonde woman with a creepily wide grin. Her clothes are tattered but brightly colored, and she’s carrying a baseball bat in her hands. 

“You’re... Harley, aren’t you?” Tim asks, helping Duke to his feet. Duke staggers, feeling the world spin for a moment, before adjusting and forcing himself to stand without Tim’s support. “Harley Quinn?” 

“Aww, did Jay Jay tell you about me?” Harley’s eyes are wide. “I knew he still cared!” 

“Wait, you mean Jason?” Duke says, a bit incredulous. “You call him _Jay Jay_?” 

“Sure do!” Harley laughs. “I’m a bit of a nicknamer. I’m still working on you two’s, though.” She frowns, tapping her chin with her baseball bat. 

“Harls! They up yet?” 

“Ooh! Yes, they are, Mister J! I told you I didn’t hit them too hard!” 

Footsteps come down the stairs, and Duke and Tim look at each other, both of their eyes wide. 

The Joker, in person, is shorter than Duke might have expected. But the rest of him... green hair, strange face paint, and a voice like knives being thrown together... it’s exactly like Steph and Tim described him. 

“Here you two are!” The Joker says. “At _last_. It’s so good to meet you properly, without all of those pesky Slayers and things getting in the way!” Beneath the clown makeup, his face is pure vampire, even as he smiles. “Well! It was a long trial period, but I have _wonderful _news!”

“Trial period?” Duke whispers, feeling very, very scared. 

“Yep! And you both were the winners!” The Joker bows low. “It’s going to be so much fun, having kids around again.”

“It’s a big honor!” Harley adds. “Mister J doesn’t turn just _anybody _into vampires!” 

“Indeed, I don’t!” 

“You can’t be serious,” Tim says. 

“I’m never serious! That’s part of the charm!” The Joker says. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry about it. Your parents will _never _agree—so I’m going to get them out of the way, so you don’t have to deal with any of those pesky human attachments!”

“What?” Duke yells. “You—”

“Mister J?” Harley says, looking worried. “But I thought—”

The Joker slams his fist into Harley’s jaw without hesitation, and she goes _down_. Tim slaps a hand over Duke’s mouth, stopping him from saying anything. “_Don’t_,” Tim whispers, both of them frozen in place, barely able to breathe through the paralyzing fear that threatens to come crashing down on top of them. “_Don’t_.” 

“Harley, Harley, Harley... you _don’t _think. Remember? That’s my job.” 

Harley lets out a small, pained noise. “But Mister J—”

“Tough love, doll! It’s important for kids! Remember how Jay Jay caused such a fuss when we first got him? Or you? It’s the same thing.” He blows her a kiss. “Now, I’m off! I’ve got some people to be, places to kill, all that jazz!” He waves at them, his grin wider than ever. “Now, you two watch yourselves! I’ll let you decide which of you goes first!” 

“It’s okay,” Tim whispers after the door slams, and then they hear Harley’s footsteps go up the stairs. “Steph will find us.”

“Steph is at the hatchery,” Duke says, numb. He unclenches his fists slowly, looking down at the row of crescent moons his nails have left in his palms. “And she doesn’t know where we are, or that he’s going after our parents.”

Tim swallows, and the two of them look at each other, their panic mirrored, but their determination doubled. “Then we need to get out of here on our own.”

“Right.” Duke nods. “I don’t suppose you know how to pick locks?” 

“No, but how hard can it be?” 

* * *

_Harley was a psychiatrist, before. She did med school and everything._

_She was good at her job, too, no matter what people liked to whisper about her, about how she got her degree, because those kind of people never could accept that, just maybe, a woman had been the top of her class, could never accept that she had earned every internship, every award. _

_But the whispers never stopped her from getting the kind of attention that changes her life forever. _

_“The Initiative? What kind of name is that?” _

_“The Demon Research Initiative is the official name.” _

_“Demons?” Harley aimed for skeptical, but she paged through the briefing packet, eyes already widening with a curiosity and excitement that she hadn’t felt for a long, long time. _

_“Demons. Vampires. Werewolves. You name it, we’re studying it.”_

_“And you want me involved?” _

_“Doctor Quinzel. We want you to **lead **our psych unit. These creatures behave in ways we don’t understand. I’ve read your work. I think you’re our best shot at getting there.” _

_She lowered the packet and beamed at Amanda Waller. _

_“Where do I sign?” _

* * *

Steph swings her axe downwards, smashing the last of the eggs. 

“This is so gross,” Jason says, examining the sole of his boot critically. 

“Well, if you would come and _visit_, maybe I wouldn’t have to drag you along just so I can spend time with you, Little Wing,” Dick says. Steph desperately tries to pretend she isn’t eavesdropping. 

“He doesn’t want to see me, Grayson. And you shouldn’t, either.” Steph’s heard that before; the layers to that. Jason’s told her parts, but clearly, she still doesn’t know the whole picture. She’s still not sure where Dick fits in. Clearly, he and Jason were close, before Jason had been killed and resurrected as a vampire. But there’s more to it, and Steph can’t figure it out. 

“That’s my decision. And you should let Bruce decide, too.” 

Steph is nudged, sharply, in the ribs. 

“It’s not our business,” Cass reprimands her, but there’s a hint of a smile to her mouth, even as she carefully cleans her own sword. 

“But it’s _interesting_!” Steph protests, going to pull her katana out of the wall, where she’d left it imbedded in a particularly large cluster of eggs. “Besides, are you telling me you’re _not _curious?” 

Cass flushes slightly. “Maybe. But it’s... Watcher business.” 

“But Jason is a vampire, so doesn’t that make it _our _business?” 

Cass narrows her eyes at Steph. “You’re using... um... words?” Cass’s brow is furrowed, in that frustrated way she gets, whenever she doesn’t know the English word for what she’s searching for. 

“Semantics?” Steph offers. “An excuse?” 

“Yes. That.” Cass nods, satisfied. “You’re using excuses. Because you want to... butt in.” 

“Rude. But probably true.” Steph finally manages to tug her sword out of the concrete. “Uh, you’ve got a little slime on your—” she gestures towards her face. 

Cass immediately tries to wipe it off, but goes for the wrong side. Her second attempt is on the right side, but still misses it. 

“Hang on, I’ve got it,” Steph says, crossing the small space between them, and reaching out to touch Cass’s cheek. 

How can Cass not _feel _this? Steph’s entire skin tingles at the contact, and her senses become hyper focused, her entire world focusing around Cass, but her peripheries stretching out, further and further...

Halfway through removing the slime from Cass’s face, Steph stops, as a feeling like the Atlantic Ocean crashes over her, drawing a gasp out of her again. 

“The Joker,” Cass says, her eyes as wide as plates. 

Panic crawls up Steph’s throat, because she’s not ready for this, not even with Cass here, not even with Dick and Jason to back her up. This vampire is _dangerous_, and she’s terrified.

But that’s not an excuse to sit back and do nothing. 

“Jason! Dick!” Steph yells. “We need to go! Now! The Joker’s on the move!” 

* * *

_“This is Subject B-01, Dr. Quinzel. Calls himself “The Joker.””_

_“Mandy! You brought me someone new to play with!” _

_“Be careful with him, Dr. Quinzel. He’s probably one of our most dangerous subjects.” With that, Amanda Waller left her alone, except for the security cameras, watching their every move. _

_Harley looked at him in fascination. His hair was green; it would always be green, because he was incapable of growing it out. The makeup from the photos was gone, washed off at some point, or perhaps just faded, with no opportunity to reapply. Without it, she could see deep set lines in his face; not quite like the wrinkles that would be there when he exposed his true face, but perhaps almost there. _

_“How old are you?” _

_She took a step closer to the glass wall of his cage. There were holes, each of them smaller than one of her fingers, there to circulate air and to allow for them to hear him. The glass itself was thick, bulletproof, and strong enough to survive a vampire’s full strength. Not that they were supposed to call them vampires. The Initiative didn’t like that term. It was unprofessional. _

_He laughed, and her skin crawled. _

_“Tell you what, Doc. I’ll answer your questions... if you answer mine. Quid Pro Quo, you know?” _

_His smile was wide and horrible. _

_“That’s not really how that works, Zero-One,” she said, and then turned and walked away._

* * *

As it turns out, picking locks is harder than it looks. 

Tim manages to scrape up a bent nail out of the wall, and Duke has a hairpin in his pocket that he can contribute to the cause. 

Tim takes the first go at the lock, because he’s nominally done this before, even if the circumstances couldn’t be further from this. 

While Duke paces the length of the cell, feeling clammy in his panic. 

He’s been in danger before. He’s even put himself willingly in harm’s way, in order to help Steph, or Tim, or any of his other friends. 

But there is something different about this. The claustrophobia of the cell, the panic; not of immediate danger, but the waiting... 

His parents might already be dead, and there’s nothing that Duke can do about it. 

Duke tries to shove aside that thought, but the fear won’t go away. He thinks of all the victims of vampires that he’s seen, ever since befriending Steph. He thinks of their computer science teacher from last year, and the way that he looked, discolored from blood loss, his neat shirt stained a dark red, his eyes wide open with fear.

He tries not to think of his parents like that, tries not to throw up, tries not to just curl up into a ball and have a panic attack. 

There’s a sound of metal snapping, and Tim curses. 

“What?” Duke says, the pit in his stomach plunging even deeper. 

“I broke the pin.” Tim says. He’s positively ashen, and his hands are trembling as he holds up the hairpin. 

Duke gives in and sits down.

“I hate this,” he whispers. “I hate... being _useless_.”

“Makes you think that Steph’s right, huh?” Tim says, sitting down as well, the bent nail and the broken pin, both useless, sitting in front of him. “When she told us we should stay away from her.”

Duke stops and thinks about Steph, and her ashamed looks when Duke had finally confronted her about not telling him about this stuff earlier. Her argument about him being _normal _feels so laughable now, here in a literal dungeon, captive of an ancient evil vampire. 

Would he be here if he’d ran away from her when he’d had the chance? 

Duke doesn’t know the answer. 

But he thinks about Steph, with her self-deprecating jokes and her one-liners, and the way she bodily throws herself between everyone and danger. He thinks about how, desperately _lonely _she is, how much she’s retreated into herself ever since the Mask, the way she acts like everyone is just counting down the hours until her (second and permanent) death... 

He couldn’t have left. Not her, not any of them. 

Even here, feeling the cold of the concrete through his jeans, and the specter of his own doom hanging over his head, he can’t bring himself to regret being Steph’s friend. 

“Nah,” Duke says. “She just blames everything on herself.” 

Tim manages a ghost of a smile. “Yeah. She does that.”

* * *

_“Doctor Quinzel. The board finds your lack of results these past few months to be... troubling.” _

_“But I’ve made so much headway! My data about the post-mortem personality changes—” _

_“That data is interesting, but not **useful**, Doctor. Our men go out there and fight these creatures every day, and everything we do is about giving them an **edge**. They want to know how we’re going to put these things **down**.” _

_“I’m a psychiatrist, Waller! What am I supposed to—”_

_“Zero-One. He’s one of the oldest subjects we’ve got on record. Just... get him to talk. About his kills, his methods, **something**. He likes to talk. Just get me **something**, and we can make something of that.” _

_“... okay. I can do that.”_

_“Be careful, Doctor. He’s tricky.”_

_“Aw, don’t worry about me, Amanda. I can handle anything he can throw at me.” _

* * *

“What do you mean you don’t know where Duke and Tim are?” 

“They went out on their errand for me and they stopped replying to me. I pulled up their GPS, but I can’t find them. Someone smashed their cell phones.” 

“The Joker,” Steph whispers, nearly breaking her own cell. Only Cass’s warning hand on her shoulder prevents her from grinding it into useless pieces of plastic.

“We can find them,” Cass says, with a note of pure, unadulterated confidence that Steph envies. What must it be like, to never doubt her own abilities? Steph swallows done her momentary envy, and then closes her eyes and breathes deeply. 

“Right. Let’s go find them.” 

* * *

_“What’s your favorite color, Harley?” _

_“I told you, my name’s Harleen.” _

_“That’s not an answer to my question.” _

_“... green. How old are you?” _

_“Oh, who keeps track of things like that? I think I’m somewhere around four hundred, probably older.”_

_“Really?”_

_“Really.” _

_His smile is wide, and she can’t help but lean closer. _

_“What color are my eyes, Harley?”_

_Harley looks. _

_“... green.” _

_He laughs, and this time... she doesn’t mind it._

* * *

The door swings open at the top of the steps, and Harley Quinn is there.

She stops just outside of their cell door, and smiles at them. 

Tim tries to punch her, a valiant effort, if wasted on a vampire, but... 

She goes down. 

“Ow,” she says, and... 

And her nose is bloody. 

“_What_?” Duke says. 

“You’re human,” Tim whispers. He takes another look at the woman. Dark circles under her eyes, and the dark roots of her natural hair color are visible beneath the blonde. 

That shouldn’t be possible. Vampire hair doesn’t grow. 

“‘course I’m human,” she says. “Mister J doesn’t turn just _anyone_.” 

“He was going to turn us!”

“Well yeah,” she tilts her head to one side. “You’re _special_.” 

“And you’re not?” Duke asks. 

“Of course I am! But not... not like _that_.” 

Tim spots them now, as she pushes herself back onto her feet. 

Bite marks litter her skin, concealed partially by makeup, but now that he’s looking for, he can’t see anything _but _them. They circle around her neck like a necklace, run up and down her arms. Wherever Tim looks, he sees them. There’s even one on the web of her hand between her thumb and forefinger. 

“He’ll turn me soon! He’s promised. But right now, with the Slayer an’ all, it’s important that he doesn’t have to go out and hunt too often.” She smiles at them. 

“Is this a thrall?” Tim asks. He’s heard of vampiric thralls, but this...

“Don’t be silly,” Harley says, but there’s something off about it, even as she laughs. She swallows. “You two are sweet,” she says. “But... so was Jay Jay. Before... not that I didn’t love him, after! But it was... different. And... and it’s not fair on you two, what Mister J is doin’.” 

The door to their cell swings open. 

“You should go before he gets back,” she tells them, stepping aside.

Tim doesn’t even stop to consider that it might be a trap, just _runs_. He’s halfway up the stairs when he hears Duke say. “Come with us. Harley. He’ll kill you.” 

She laughs. “Oh, you’re sweet! Don’t you worry. Mister J won’t ever hurt me.” She pauses, and that pause says an entire universe. “Well, he does sometimes, but he doesn’t _mean _it. Don’t you worry about me. I’m a big girl.”

“Duke!” Tim calls, understanding that Duke is, technically, doing the right thing, but their _parents_—

“Right.” 

Duke follows him up the stairs, and the two of them start running back towards the school, leaving Harley standing by the door to their cell, watching them. 

* * *

_It was her own fault; she was the one who let him out. She didn’t exactly remember how it happened... it had all been going so well. The board had been happy with her results, and Waller had approved of the next round of experiments; behavioral modification. _

_He hadn’t liked the sound of that. _

_Now, everyone was dead or dying, except her. Maybe some of the others had survived, but she hadn’t seen them, hadn’t heard anyone but her and him for ages now... _

_“How does it taste, Harley?” _

_She lifted her head away from the Initiative soldier’s neck, gagging on the blood, and he laughed, and he pushed her head back down towards the neck. _

_“You wanted to understand, didn’t you? We’ll work on it!” _

_Harley drank the blood. _

* * *

Jason is the one to find them, in his ridiculous car, and Duke has never been happier to see a vampire. 

“You’re alive!”

“No need to sound disappointed!” Tim yells, vaulting into the shotgun seat. 

“We need to get to our houses,” Duke says. “The Joker’s going after our parents!” 

Jason swears vividly, and changes gears. “Call Steph!” 

Tim scrambles to grab Jason’s phone out of the charger and starts dialing. 

Duke’s heart is in his throat, desperately feeling every moment, as the road speeds by. 

“Okay,” Tim says. “Cass and Dick are heading to my house, since I live further out. Steph’s going to yours.” 

“We might beat Steph to your place,” Jason says, his eyes on the road. 

Duke swallows. “Just... drop me off, and then you take Tim to his.”

“I’m not leaving you alone—”

“Jason. Steph will be right behind me.”

“... check the bag. There’s a stake there.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to have sharp pointy pieces of wood in your car?” Tim says. “Especially with the way you drive?” 

“Why do you think it’s in the bag?” 

“I’m pretty sure Steph has proved that it’s possible to be staked through fabric!” 

Duke’s house approaches rapidly, and Duke grips the stake tightly. 

“Good luck,” Jason yells. 

The door is closed, the porch light is on...

Duke almost believes that things will be okay. 

“Mom! Dad!” He yells as he pushes open the door to his house. 

“Duke!” His dad’s voice says. “You’re home early.”

Duke lets out a sob, which he doesn’t bother concealing, before throwing himself at his parents, letting the stake fall to the floor. 

His parents embrace him. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” his mom whispers, and it’s only then that Duke realizes that something’s wrong. 

His mom’s hands, always warm and comforting, are cold and clammy against his skin. So are his dad’s. 

He jerks back, just in time to see his parent’s faces warp into vampiric visages. 

“It’s all going to be okay,” the vampire says, with his mother’s voice. 

Duke stands, frozen, staring at his parents, as they walk towards him, their movements strange, as if... as if they’re not used to their own bodies. As if they’re not really themselves. As if, now, there’s a demon standing in their places. 

He takes a step backwards, and his foot catches on the stake, sending him falling to the ground—the stake, he has a weapon, he can fight back. He scrambles for it, listening as the demons who _aren’t _his parents laugh at him. 

“We’re all going to be a family again, very soon. The Master promised,” the demon wearing his mother’s face promises. She and his father start laughing, horrifically in sync. 

It’s while they’re laughing, and Duke is sitting on the floor like an idiot, clutching the stake, when a hand grabs him by the collar and jerk him backwards. 

“Run!” Stephanie Brown yells, looking terrified but at the same time, looking like she’s the stubbornest person on the planet. 

“Slayer!” His father’s voice shouldn’t be used like that. 

Steph throws him out of the door, and Duke scrambles to his feet, but Steph slams the door behind her, and he hears the deadlock click into place. 

Duke scrambles for his keys, yelling at Steph the whole time, as he listens to the sound of fighting come from inside of his house. 

“Let me in! Steph!” He wrenches the door open, just in time to see the vampire that was once his father collapse into dust, while Steph holds the remains of a dining room table. 

Steph looks at him and drops the chair. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

“Duke,” Bruce says, and Duke turns around and wraps his arms around Bruce, and finally, as the shock wears off, begins to sob.

When he finally looks back, Steph is gone. 

* * *

“Why didn’t you tell us Harley’s human?” Tim asks, as they drive away from Jason. 

Jason glances at him, barely even keeping an eye on the road, which, given the speed he’s driving, should probably be worrying. 

“Harley’s... she’s Harley,” Jason says. “She’s...”

“She’s the Joker’s thrall,” Tim says, his eyes narrowed at Jason. “I thought only really old vampires could do that.” 

Jason scowls. “No one’s sure how old the Joker is. Not even him, I think. But he’s... Harley was always there, with him, ever since I first met him. She was there when... well. When it happened.” 

“She let us go,” Tim says. “Do you know why she’d do that?” 

“She likes kids.” 

“She—”

“Yeah. When—before. She was nice to me. And after—she still was. She put herself between me and the Joker more than a few times. Of course, I didn’t—I didn’t exactly react to it well.”

Tim thinks about the bite marks on Harley’s arms, before he realizes what Jason’s not saying. “You feel _guilty _about her?” Tim says, incredulous. “She helped the Joker turn you!” 

“She’s human, and I left her with him.” 

“You can’t seriously blame yourself for that!” 

Jason lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and then turns a corner a little too tightly. 

Tim has no idea what he’s expecting to see when he and Jason pull into his driveway far too fast. Gravel scatters everywhere under the treads of the tires. 

But it’s certainly not Cass, sitting on his front steps, hanging her head. 

“Cass!” Tim yells, throwing open the door to Jason’s car and leaping out, not even waiting for Jason to put the car in park. “Cass!” 

Cass raises her head, and his heart draws to a stop as he sees tear tracks on his face. “Not—not fast enough,” she says, her voice trembling. “Sorry.”

“No! Dad! Mom!” Tim pushes past her, barreling into the house. 

“Tim!” Jason yells, trying to follow him, before being stopped by the barrier. He’s not invited—how did the Joker get past that? Did his parents _invite him in_? 

He smells blood, and hears—

He hears his dad sobbing. 

“Dad!” 

“Tim?” 

Tim opens the door to the living room, and his stomach drops. 

There’s... 

There’s so much blood. 

“Dad?” 

“Tim,” his dad says. He’s pale, and he’s bleeding, and his leg—his leg is at an angle that shouldn’t be possible.

But Tim stares, instead, at the body that his dad is cradling. 

His mom’s body. 

“Oh,” Tim says.

He doesn’t cry. Not yet. That comes later. 

Right now, his knees buckle out from under him, and he just kneels there, with his dad. 

“It was—it was a monster, Tim,” his dad is saying. “Some sort of—and then this girl! She came out of nowhere, but she drove him off.”

“That’s Cass,” Tim says, feeling... numb. “I should—she’s still outside.” 

He tries to get to his feet, but his body refuses to move. 

“Tim!” Jason’s voice yells. “Tim!” 

“You can come in,” Tim says, dissolving the barrier to his house with that easy invitation. 

Jason comes in, a cell phone in his hand. He puts a hand on Tim’s back, and tries to get him to stand. It doesn’t work. “I called 9-1-1. For—”

“Sorry,” Cass says again. “Wasn’t—I wasn’t fast enough. Not—_good enough_.” 

“No,” Tim says. “Cass—_no_.” He lets Jason draw him to his feet this time, even though his legs feel like they have the consistency of jelly beneath him, and he launches himself at Cass to pull her into a hug. 

“Cass, _thank you_,” he says, and it’s only as he’s hugging her, that it really sinks in, and he starts to cry. 

* * *

Jason has to leave when the ambulance comes. It’s going to be hard for people to parse this as it is—what the Joker did to Janet Drake can’t exactly be written off as death by barbecue fork—without bringing in a walking, talking corpse into the question. 

He gets in his car and drives. 

He doesn’t know where he’s going, until he finds himself parked outside of a familiar house. 

He takes a moment to consider if, maybe, he should drive away, and pretend that this has never happened.

But he sees a light on, and he knows that he has to do. 

He knocks on the door. 

There’s a long pause, before, finally, the door opens, and Dick is there. 

“Jay,” Dick says. He looks... tired. He looks so, so tired. 

When they’d been kids, Dick had only been two years older than him. 

Now, Dick is almost thirty, and Jason still looks seventeen. And Jason will keep looking seventeen, even when Dick’s whole head of hair is grey. 

“Heard about Duke,” he says. “Is he—”

“Asleep. In my old room,” Dick says. 

“Not mine?” Jason says, unable to help himself. 

“Never,” Dick says. He steps aside, and Jason looks away. 

His heart hasn’t beaten in a decade, but of course it hurts anyways. 

“You have to invite me in,” he tells Dick. “I can’t—”

“It’s your home, Jason,” Dick says, with a kind of fierce honesty that had once annoyed Jason _so much_, when he’d been thirteen years old and wildly jealous of Bruce’s other son. “You’re _always _welcome here.”

Jason swallows down the lump of emotion in his throat, and steps through the door.

The Manor, as it’s called, is a large house, but it’s always felt cozy to Jason. He looks to his left, and sure enough, the pictures are the same. Bruce and his parents, Bruce and Alfred, Bruce and Dick, and then, finally, Bruce and Dick and Jason. 

Had it only been three years, when they’d been happy? 

“Did you hear from Cass?” he asks, finally forcing himself from looking away from the last photo on the wall, with the three of them and Babs, for her and Dick’s graduation from high school. 

“Yeah. She’s... she’s taking it pretty hard. She and Tim are at the hospital.” 

“His dad’s going to be fine,” Jason says. “Well, except maybe for that leg.” He shrugs, because, really, in the grand scheme of Joker attacks, that’s getting off light. “How’s Steph?” 

Dick’s face becomes even more exhausted. “She’s off the grid. She’s texted Babs, but that’s it.”

“I’ll go—” Jason says, because Dick _clearly _needs sleep, but Jason doesn’t, not really. 

“Jason?” Bruce says, his voice quiet, but tentative. 

It’s been longer than Jason cares to think about since he’s seen Bruce like this; out of his suits, without his professional mask. Instead, he’s wearing a Gotham Knights t-shirt that Dick had bought him years ago, and the lines of grief and exhaustion are written clearly on his face. 

Here and now, he’s not some Watcher, not someone who’s written off a teenage girl’s life in the name of the greater good. 

He’s Jason’s dad, who’s just watched another kid go through the exact same thing that he had, all those years ago. 

The vampire who had killed Thomas and Martha Wayne is long gone, but Duke Thomas has just lost both of his parents—vamped, despite the short time period, and staked—and Tim Drake has lost his mother. 

The shadows of grief are long, and they hang heavily on Bruce’s shoulders. 

“Hey Bruce,” Jason says, and smiles at him. “Duke get down okay?” 

“As well as could be expected,” Bruce says, sitting down at the kitchen table. _God_, but he looks so much older than he does in Jason’s memories. 

Ten years, it’s been, since he was in this room. 

He sits down next to Bruce. 

Dick sits down on his other side. 

“What’s going to happen now?” 

Bruce sighs. “Duke doesn’t have any other close relatives, at least none nearby. It’s likely he’s going to end up in the foster system. Probably out of Gotham.” 

Jason stares at him. 

“And you’re going to let that happen?” 

Bruce looks at him. “Jason—”

“You—you can’t be serious! You _know _what the foster system is like! You know what being forced to leave Gotham—”

“I won’t put him in the line of fire again!” Bruce yells. “Not after what happened to you!” 

Jason freezes. 

“B—”

“I can’t,” Bruce says. “Not again. I won’t lose—”

“You didn’t—I’m here,” Jason says. 

It’s a lie, and they all know it. 

Ten years, since he’s been in this kitchen. 

Three years, since he’s had a soul. 

This is the first real conversation he’s had with his father since he opened the door to his birth mother’s house like an idiot and seen the Joker standing there with her. 

“It wasn’t your fault, Bruce.” 

“Jason—” 

“It wasn’t. It wasn’t mine either.” He swallows and clenches his hands into fists. “It was just his. The Joker’s.” 

Bruce reaches out and grips his hand. 

“I don’t—I know I don’t deserve—what I did—”

“Don’t you _dare_!” 

Jason turns to Dick, shocked. 

“What you did—it _wasn’t your fault, Jay_.” Dick’s face is pale and furious. “You didn’t have a _soul_. It _wasn’t you_.”

“I—”

“I don’t care! I couldn’t kill him, because he looked like you and he sounded like you, but—” Dick grabs him by the shoulders. “_I never once believed it was you_.” 

Jason—

Jason _cracks. _

The tears flow, flow like they haven’t in a long, long, time, and before he knows it, Bruce is embracing him on one side, and Dick is embracing him on the other. 

They don’t hate him. 

They don’t blame him. 

Despite _everything_, they’re still family, and this is still his home. 

And Jason Todd, for the first time since he’s crawled his way out of his grave to an unquenchable thirst for blood and violence... 

Jason Todd is at peace.

* * *

Far away, a green crystal globe in Talia al Ghul’s workshop cracks, then splinters into a million pieces. 


	4. whisper in a dead man’s ear: part iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A soul is lost, and things fall apart.
> 
> As the Slayer Squad mourns, they discover that something more sinister is afoot, and a darkness is approaching. And, most worryingly, they can no longer rely on a key ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are _back!_ Grad school is crushing my soul, but I live on, and so does this fic! 
> 
> A small editing note: I went back a few chapters to tweak Talia's name, so she's going by a pseudonym "Talia Head" while being the computer science teacher at the school. 
> 
> Warnings again for this chapter! We have more Harley stuff, so heavy abuse warnings of all flavors, plus grief, blood, gaslighting, manipulation, and stalking.

_What is lost, return._

_Not dead, not of the living,_

_Spirits of the spaces between, I call._

_Bind him, cast his heart from the evil realm._

_Let him know the pain of humanity._

_Reach your sacred hands to me. Give me the sword..._

_I call on you; do not ignore this request._

_Let this orb be the vessel that will carry his soul to him._

_It is written, this power is my right to wield._

_Return to the body what separates man from animal,_

_Until the moment when he finds peace from this torment._

_So shall it be with the help of this magic crystal globe._

_So it shall be! So it shall _be!

_Now! Now!_

\- Ritual of Restoration, translated from the original Egyptian, as cast by Talia al Ghul to return the soul of Jason Todd to the vampire known as the Red Hood. 

* * *

Jason stumbles out of the house. 

Sunrise is soon, and he knows this; he can feel it, threatening to break over the horizon, but he... 

He needs to get _away_.

His breath—breaths that he doesn’t even need to take, that he hasn’t needed to take in a decade—comes in stuttering, short bursts, and _pain_, pain is... it’s everywhere... 

His chest feels like it’s about to burst open, and he claws at his own shirt, trying to see if something has found its way under his skin, because the pain is _so much_—

Then, as suddenly as it started, it fades. 

He stops where he’s standing, staring up at the rapidly greying sky. 

“Huh,” he says, grinning. “So that’s how it goes.” 

* * *

Morning dawns to her sitting in a cemetery, her knees drawn up against her chest as she perches awkwardly on a slab of frozen marble. 

A glance at her phone shows a string of texts, missed phone calls, and voicemails, from everyone but her mother. Mom thinks she’s spending the night at Harper’s, and no one is going to correct her, not even in their panic. 

Duke and Tim are missing from the list as well, but she can’t imagine they’re up for much right now. 

God knows that she wasn’t, after her dad...

She pauses, scrolling through the texts, before she realizes that Jason hasn’t texted her since right after... 

Steph finds herself smiling, despite everything. 

Jason _gets _her, sometimes. He knows she’d rather be left alone. 

She hops off her gravestone, patting the headstone of Gabi Kane to thank it for its use as a seat, and then heads back towards the St. Cloud cemetery to check on Jason. 

“Hey Blondie,” he greets her when she pushes open the door to his crypt. “Rough night?” 

She swallows. “Yeah.” 

His customary jacket is thrown across the cheap couch that she helped him move in last summer, and instead, he’s wearing his red hoodie with the hood pulled up over his face. 

“Guess we should’ve seen it coming though,” he says. He offers her the packet of cigarettes he’s carrying. “I mean. You’re the Slayer. They usually don’t have friends for a reason.”

“Yeah,” she says, sitting down hard on the granite block in the middle of the crypt. 

“I mean, you couldn’t have known, though,” Jason says, as if he’s realizing that he’s messed up, even though he’s saying nothing other than the absolute truth. “That the Joker would go after them because they’re your friends. And you couldn’t have known that he’d go after their parents. You’re just... you.”

Just herself. Just a really, _really _crappy Slayer, with not enough training, who couldn’t even get to the first house in time to stop Duke from having to see any of that, couldn’t save his parents, couldn’t save Tim’s mom, couldn’t—

She gets up and goes to school, hoping that she can get into the library to retrieve her backpack without anyone noticing. 

* * *

_The blood is so thick that it might as well be painted upon the very walls of the building. _

_Talia al Ghul lifts up the hem of her skirt, her lips dangerously thin as she examines the scene. _

_“Who did this?” _

_“He called himself the Red Hood.” It’s one of her father’s people who offers her this information._

_Talia keeps her face blank as she examines the corpses; there are three, but the vampire has mauled them so thoroughly that if she had not gone in knowing that, she might not have realized. _

_The Red Hood. _

_She knows him; how could she not, when he has caused so much suffering? _

_Jason Todd. _

_She had met the boy once, soon after Bruce had adopted him. He had been clever and full of life, grieving one of his mothers already, the one who had been a Potential, once upon a time, which was how Bruce had stumbled across him. _

_Bruce always had a soft spot for Potentials. _

_And now, he was dead, and a demon moved around in his body, using all of the kindness and cleverness of Jason Todd as a tool in his own cruelty. _

_Three Potentials lay dead. _

_Father had been holding high hopes for them. _

_He would not be pleased about this development. _

_One Slayer was dead already, and it was known that the Hood was making a point of targeting them. _

_Father would want him to pay for what he had done._

_Perhaps..._

_She might be able to use this. _

_She wiped her hands off on her skirt, and then brushed her hand against her stomach as she thought. _

_Yes. She might be able to use this. _

* * *

Harley hits the ground _hard _and isn’t able to stop herself from letting out a whimper. 

“Mister J—" She pleads, reaching upwards towards him, but all it does his make him angrier. 

“You ruined _everything_!” 

A distant part of her knows that this is bad, that she might have pushed him too far this time, but she refuses to believe it, because...

Because...

She meets his eyes and oh... 

He kicks her again, and she tastes blood, but it’s her own blood this time, not anyone else’s, and he’s right, she deserves this. He trusted her to keep them, and she let them go... 

Why did she do that? Why did she betray him like that?

She can’t think, can’t even remember their faces, can’t even remember what their voices sounded like, can’t—

“If you’re going to kill her, let me have a drink first,” a voice says, cutting through the haze and the pain, and Harley looks up, blood dripping down her chin onto the floor. 

“Jay Jay?” She croaks, blinking, trying to get him in focus, but her vision is blurred and red from her collision with the walls. 

A familiar face appears in front of her, a smile across his face. 

“You look like shit, Harley,” Jay Jay says, then he picks her up, cradling her against his chest. 

She laughs, forgetting all about the pain. “It’s you! It’s really you!” 

“It’s me,” he says, kissing her forehead. “I’d say sorry to cause trouble, but well...” He sets her on her feet. 

Mister J embraces him. “Knew it was just a phase, kiddo! Glad to see you’re feeling better!” 

“Oh! Are you hungry?” Harley says, worried. “That Slayer hasn’t been feeding you properly, you’re thin!” 

She offers him her arm, just like she had when he was a fledgling, all wild-eyed and confused. He’d been so cute back then, unsure of his own strength, but then, just like now, he took her arm and drank greedily. 

It hurts, oh it _hurts_, it’s different than when Mister J does it, with his eyes staring into her and his fangs digging into her skin, but Jay Jay has always been hungry, has always taken as much as she can give, because that’s what kids do, y’know? But it’s all okay, and Harley doesn’t begrudge him a single drop, even as the pain shoots up and down her arm, and some distant part of her tries to pull away.

Mister J puts a hand on her shoulder, and tilts her head back to meet his gaze. “It’s good to have a full nest again, isn’t it Harley?” 

The pain flickers and then fades, and she laughs and tilts her head to one side to allow him access to her neck, just like she did back when things were good, and when they were a _family_. 

He lowers his head, and she gasps, delighted, as he bites down, the joyful, tingly numbness filling her lungs, and she begins to drift, full of the feeling of _completion_, the way that only he has ever made her feel. 

“Mom’s home cooking,” Jay Jay jokes, blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. Dreamily, she reaches up a hand to wipe it away. 

“You always were a messy eater,” she tells him, smiling vaguely. Oh, she’s missed him so much. 

Mister J stops drinking and suddenly, without him to support her, she collapses back to the ground. 

“How did this happen?” Mister J says. 

“Curse broke. Something to do with the Watcher, I think.” He shrugs. “Honestly, I know you’re mad, but I’m glad she let those two fly the coop. If I’d come home to a couple new chicks, I might have had to do some culling.” 

Harley can smell cigarette smoke, and the smell forces her to concentrate, the blood loss bringing forward that part of her, however small and dying that it was, that had made it through medical school, that knows how to handle this. 

She forces herself to sit up, checking her wounds to make sure that they’ve sealed. Vampire bites _usually _seal themselves, but Jay Jay rarely bothers, but he did this time. 

She has iron supplements... somewhere. Maybe she should just stay here a while. It’s been so long since they’ve all been together, after all. 

“So, now that you’re back, what do you want to do?” 

Jay Jay laughs. 

“She tried to get me to _heal_. Turned me into a pathetic little thing. Convinced me that I could be forgiven. Made me feel _human_.” 

His smile is exactly like she remembered. 

“I’m going to make her hurt. I’m going to strip away everything that makes her strong. And then, when she’s all alone and pathetic and _human_... then I’ll kill her.” 

“She meant that much to you?” Mister J asks. 

He stubs out his cigarette on the wall. “I would have called her my _best friend_. Too bad I never bothered to tell her that.” He grins. “Might have made this even more fun.” 

Harley leans her head against the wall and starts to drift away. 

Poor Slayer. 

Her boys are never fun to deal with when they get like this. 

* * *

“I warned you, daughter.”

“Father, please. I can still fix this.”

“I warned you against using that curse in the first place. Now, it has backfired. The Red Hood has his soul, and the trust of a Slayer. You did not use the curse as it was meant to be used! You used it as a _kindness_. It is a curse! It is meant to bring down upon a vampire all of the suffering that they have inflicted upon the world. The boy found _peace_, and his heart was light, and that single moment was enough to drive away all of your hard work. And now, he will seek vengeance upon you for what you thought was _kind_.”

“There is still time! I can gather the ingredients, I just need—”

“No. I have allowed you to play this game. What, have you started to believe it? Believe yourself to be Talia Head? A scholar and a computer scientist? You are Talia al Ghul! You are _my daughter_. I did not wish for you to use the ancient curse on him initially, do you believe I would allow you to do it again?”

“The Red Hood—”

“Is loose upon this town, and so be it. Perhaps this time, the Watcher will find it in himself to do what must be done. Now, we’re leaving. You should keep your mind on… more _important _things.”

* * *

Bruce picks Duke up from the hospital. 

“I’ve filed the paperwork so that you can stay with me for as long as you want,” Bruce tells him quietly. 

“Where else would I go?” Duke says. He feels numb from head to toe, completely disconnected from everything. He knows... he should be reacting more. It should be... _more_. 

But right now, he feels too tired for any of it. 

“No one would judge you for wanting to leave Gotham, Duke,” Dick says from the front seat. His eyes are sympathetic, and his suit is rumpled.

“No,” Duke says, tightening his fingers around the strap of his duffle. “No.” 

He needs to stay. He needs to fight. He needs to... he needs to _help_. 

He keeps hearing his parents’ laughter in the back of his mind, twisted by the Joker, and that’s… it’s not _right_, because that’s the last time he’ll ever hear it, because it’s _gone_, gone in a puff of dust and a piece of wood in Steph’s hands.

Cass reaches over and puts her hand on his, squeezing. 

Tim is with his dad. Harper is staying with him, whenever she’s not at school. The advantage of a friendship that goes all the way back to Kindergarten.

“Where’s Steph?” Duke says, because he’s seen most of the others, except Jason, but he’s always been surrounded by people, and Jason doesn’t like interacting with strangers, so that’s not unexpected. 

He catches the look that Bruce and Dick give each other. 

“Harper saw her at school today. She’s okay.” Bruce finally says. 

“Oh. Okay.” 

* * *

Jason needs to bide his time. 

The Slayer is hurting, and hurting _bad_. She’s taking the Joker’s hit hard, and it wasn’t even _direct_. 

It’s going to be so much sweeter when he strikes close to home. 

There’s no need to overplay his hand. 

He can mess with her, maybe Bruce too while he’s at it. 

They’ve been playing house with nothing more than dreams and playing cards, and Jason is going to bring it all toppling down. 

He inhales the sweet smoke from his cigarettes and leans against the Slayer’s window from his perch in the tree, watching her sleep.

Yes… biding his time will make it all the sweeter.

* * *

_The statue looks like a gargoyle. A sword pierces right through its mouth, and she knows... _

_It’s important that the sword stay there, that nothing so much as disturb that statue. _

_She turns around, and she’s looking up into Jason’s eyes. _

_“You’ve got to do it, Blondie. It’s for the best.”_

_The sword is in her hand. _

_“No one else will do it for you.” _

_Everything is fire and everything is pain and no one should ever have put anything in her hands, she’s nothing, she’s a failure, she’s just a girl... _

She opens her eyes. 

“Steph! You’re going to be late for school!” 

“Coming,” Steph whispers. 

Her entire body aches; two hours of sleep is not enough time to recover from her patrol. 

Duke is coming back to school today. Tim isn’t; his dad is threatening to pull him out, threatening to leave Gotham altogether, and Steph can’t really blame him. 

Had it really only been a week ago that things had been okay? 

She sighs and forces herself to get up and get dressed. 

Cass is waiting for her on the steps, looking way too pretty in her bright yellow sweater, her expression just as grim as Steph feels. 

“How is he?” Steph asks. 

“Bad. But alive.” Cass reaches for Steph, but then stops. 

“Just like Tim,” she says. 

The two of them look at each other, the weight of their failures, of all the dead weighing down on them. 

It’s not fair, Steph knows this. They’re not the ones who go around killing people. They fight the evil, they _save _lives. 

But it feels awful, standing in the aftermath of the destruction. 

“Let’s go,” Steph says, shouldering her backpack. 

Cass shakes her head. “Going back. Training.”

Right, because only one of them is stupid enough to attempt to have a normal life, and it’s the blonde. 

Steph swallows down her pride and goes to school. 

* * *

It takes Duke less than a day to realize that Steph is avoiding him. 

Steph is many things but _subtle _has never exactly been one of them. 

They have less classes together this year than they had sophomore year, but even then, Steph manages to sit way in the back, even though she usually sits right behind him, so she can whisper things about the teachers just low enough that he can hear.

Now, she’s not even looking at him, and every time he tries to catch up with her in a hall, he loses sight of her.

He keeps thinking about the way she looked, clutching a stake that used to be his parents’ table, as the last traces of his parents floated around her. The strange, empty look on her face as she looked at him.

Harper is in class today, at least. She’s been skipping to keep Tim company a lot, but Jack Drake apparently finally figured out that Tim had a girl breaking into their house and sleeping in his bed to keep him company through the nightmares—even if the girl was Harper, who he had known for years, and Tim had a boyfriend. Admittedly, the boyfriend had _also _been in the room, but Kon had used his keen werewolf senses to make it out the window before Jack Drake could catch him.

So Harper was in school, and so was Kon, and all of them look as tired as he feels.

“How is he?” Duke asks them.

“Bad,” Harper says. “Jack is being…”

“A lot,” Kon chimes in, his expression a scowl. “He wants to pull Tim out of _school_! Send him to boarding school, or just flat out move!”

“He can’t,” Duke says. “They _can’t _move.” Imagining Gotham without Tim is unthinkable at this point. Their little group is more than just casual friendship. They’re so much _more _than that. They’ve fought the forces of darkness together, and they’ve saved the world (well, it was mostly Steph, but Duke is giving them at least _partial _credit) and Tim can’t just… _leave_.

Harper shrugs, looking helpless. “He keeps saying Gotham isn’t safe.”

“It’s _never _been safe! Did he only just figure this out? This city has the highest homicide rate outside of a major metropolitan area!”

Kon lets out a snicker. “Yeah, well, I guess he’s finally figured out what that _means_.”

They all go quiet at that.

“God, this sucks,” Harper says.

Duke nods, not having it in him to say anything else.

His parents have been buried, but there’s no bodies beneath their graves. Barbara has been trying to do research, trying to figure out _how _his parents could have been turned so quickly, but she’s not coming up with anything.

Right now, they’re just being left with a lot of questions.

And Steph won’t even stay in the same room as him long enough for him to try to get answers for some of them. 

* * *

“Have you noticed? Ms. Head is gone.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a sub.”

“Who is it?”

“That library assistant, Ms. Gordon. She seems nice, I guess.”

* * *

“I got you a gift, Mister J!” Harley says.

Jason eyes her idly. She’s favoring one side over the other, and she’s got a black eye, but she’s been worse, that Jason can remember. She’s resilient, that Harley. Whatever thrall the Joker has her under, it’s deep. He doesn’t know who Harley used to be, but whoever it was, she has to be long dead by now, buried beneath the twisted loyalty and devotion.

“A gift?” The Joker looks up from his current meal, and grins. “Why, how thoughtful of you!”

“I mean, it’s your birthday, and I wanted it to be _special_!” Harley giggles, and kisses him on the cheek. She’s terrified, and Jason can’t exactly blame her. He’s _never _seen her disobey Joker like she did, releasing those two brats. The fact that Joker didn’t kill her for that is pretty telling; despite everything, Joker’s got a soft spot for her.

“Well don’t drag it out,” Jason says, pulling himself up. He’s trapped here until sunset, and he’s always up for some new entertainment, and Harley is _very _good at that.

“_Ta-da_!” Harley says, pulling out a box from under the table. It’s not wrapped or anything; it’s just a sturdy, solid looking wooden crate, about twice the length of Jason’s forearm. Wait, no, she has wrapped it—there’s one of those premade ribbon flourishes taped to one side.

The Joker opens it with a flourish, and then he freezes.

Then he laughs.

“Harls!” He picks her up, spins her around, and kisses her on the lips, with a cackle. “Your _brilliant_! What a _treat_!”

“What is it?” Jason says, sitting upright.

“An arm,” the Joker says, giddy with delight in a way that Jason hasn’t seen in a very long time. It’s almost nostalgic, if he felt nostalgia. 

“What, that’s a good gift?” Jason says, vaguely offended. “When I gave you a severed leg, you told me I was making a mess!”

“Not just any arm, kiddo! The arm of _Killer Croc_.”

“.. the demon?”

“The demon who eats everything,” Joker confirms. “It’s said he ate entire towns.”

“No weapon forged could kill him,” Jason says, almost dreamily, as he recalled the lore. He’d loved those kinds of stories when he was a kid, studying lore, first with his mom, and later with Bruce. He can probably recite the stories about Killer Croc from heart, even though it’s easily been a decade since he last held any of those old books. A demon called upon in order to try to purge the wicked, but instead, it just ate _everything_, because the humans trying the summoning had never heard of conversational Latin. “It took an _army _to beat him.”

“And even then, they couldn’t kill him! Just chop him up into tiny bits!” Harley says. “So I’ve been collecting them! They should all be here by tomorrow!”

“Well,” Jason says. “I guess that gives me a day to make sure our Slayers are out of commission, huh?” It took an army to beat Killer Croc last time, but two Slayers were a pretty close equivalent.

“Guess it does!” Joker says. He slaps him on the back. “Have fun, kiddo!”

Jason grins, his face in its vampiric form. “Absolutely, Pops.”

* * *

“I’ve heard some weird rumors through my network,” Babs announces. 

“What kind of rumors?” Steph asks. She and Cass are in the library, with the three Watchers in front of them. It feels weird, not having the others around, but it’s for the best. 

“Someone’s been moving some mystical objects. I’m not sure what, exactly, but there’s something weird and demonic going on, and if all of the pieces get together, apparently that’s bad.”

“Do you think... the Joker?” Cass frowns. Her posture is perfect, her hands clasped behind her back.

“No use taking chances,” Dick says. He pauses. “Have either of you seen Jason... since the incident?” 

“I stopped by his crypt the day after,” Steph says, her face going stiff at the mention of the events. “He was okay.” 

The three Watchers frown. “That was a week ago,” Bruce says. “Stephanie, you go check on him, see if he’s heard anything. Cassandra, go to the port, see if you can find wherever those artifacts are entering Gotham.” 

“Okay,” Steph says. 

“Maybe you should take Tim or Duke or Harper with you,” Dick says. 

“No,” Steph says, far too quickly. “I’ll move faster on my own.” 

“Me too,” Cass adds, and then the two of them run out of the library. 

“Well,” Dick says dryly. “Nothing suspicious about that.” 

“I’ll call Harper, you get Tim, Bruce gets Duke,” Babs says. “We’ll have a research party.”

* * *

It feels weird, being back in the library. It’s as if nothing has changed. 

As if when he leaves here, he’ll be going home, back to his parents, rather than back to a spare bedroom in Bruce’s house. 

Harper grins at him, tired. “Hey. It’s the original three.” 

Duke snorts. “I guess it is.” 

He hadn’t been close with those two before. He’d tried, in the past, but Tim had always pulled away, and there had been other people, other activities, keeping him from pushing. 

But then he had met Steph, and he’d run over vampires with his car. 

He couldn’t leave this world if he’d wanted to, and he didn’t, because leaving would mean leaving behind Harper and Tim and Kon—who had shown up without being invited. 

Leaving would mean no more late-night study parties, knowing that he was helping, that lives were going to be saved because of him. It would mean no more Slaying, no more Bruce and Dick and Babs and Cass and Steph. 

He’d lost a lot, and he wasn’t about to say that it was a good trade-off, losing his parents. 

But staying away wouldn’t have guaranteed safety. Other kids lost their parents every day, to vampires and other causes. Harper had lost her mom years ago, and she hadn’t fought them for a single day before she’d watched her mother die. 

There were no guarantees, not for anything. 

But Duke had already made his choice, and he isn’t about to start regretting it. 

“I’ve got it!” Babs declares, hanging up the phone. “Dinah, my contact in Star, says that the artifact that was stolen from their museum was supposedly the arm of an ancient demon known as Killer Croc.” 

“Well, that’s a place to start at least,” Bruce says. “Tim, try Jason Blood’s Treatise on Demonology, that should at least give us a hint about where to consult next. Duke, you check the Watcher’s Index and then check the appropriate Watcher’s Journal. Harper, check John Constantine’s autobiography, if there was trouble, he was usually involved.” 

* * *

Steph can’t find Jason _anywhere_. 

He’s not in his crypt, and the place has been trashed. Blood is smeared everywhere, and the slab of marble that ironically serves as his bed has been cracked in two. 

“Jason!” She yells, guilt flooding her, because she hasn’t even _thought _to go check on him all week; she’s been so busy with her own guilt and her own life, and she had just thought he wanted space, but he’s _gone_, and he could be hurt or dead or captured—

She races out of the crypt, her lungs feeling like it’s being squeezed by her ribcage as she tries to think of where else Jason could be, of what she can do next. 

She pulls out her phone and calls him.

There’s no answer. 

Cold creeps up her spine, and she immediately sends him a text, asking if he’s okay. 

And another. 

And another. 

That’s when a vampire attacks her. 

It’s some ordinary grunt, but he still manages to take her by surprise. 

“Hey!” Steph yells, punching him, and grabbing for the stake in her bag. 

Another vamp comes out, and then another, and before Steph knows it she’s fighting for her life, swinging her fists and flipping out of the way, one of them ripping off her bag and throwing it to the side, meaning she doesn’t have her stake. 

It’s frantic and wild, but there’s a tree not too far away, and Steph manages to catch ahold of the low-hanging branch and pull herself up onto it, snap another branch off, and then jumps back off with a sweeping upwards kick, and then stake three vamps on the one branch. 

The last vampire lunges at her, and Steph grins, because he’s left himself open for an easy stake, and that’s when she turns to dust on the spot, revealing Jason holding a stake behind. 

“Jason!” Steph says, throwing her arms around his neck. 

He shoves her off. “Whoa, Blondie. I know I’m handsome, but hands off the goods.” 

“Sorry,” Steph says, immediately backing off. “What happened? Your place was smashed up, and you weren’t answering!” 

“Oh,” Jason shrugs. “Just got into a scuffle.” 

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Steph says. “I was worried.” 

He snorts. “What, overcompensating much?” 

She freezes. “What?”

“Look, Blondie, I’ve tried to be patient, but you need to just _get over it_. Just because you got a couple of people killed, doesn’t mean you need to _hover._” 

“I’m—” Steph reels back. “Jason?” 

“Listen, I get it,” he says, smirking at her. “But don’t you have better things to do?” 

“Than worry about one of my friends?” 

He laughs. It starts small, and then he’s doubled over, wiping at his eyes. “Oh, man. I haven’t laughed that long in a while.” 

“Jason?” 

“We’re not _friends_, Blondie,” he says. “I just said that because I didn’t want the Joker to kill you, because it would be way too much trouble to help the next one down the line, and who knows, they might have been even worse at Slaying than you. But hey! Cass is here now, so it doesn't matter if you go off and get yourself killed, because she’s twice the Slayer than you could ever be.” 

Steph reels back. “Why are you saying this?” 

“Because you couldn’t even do your stupid job, and kill the Joker! He _killed _me, and you’re just letting him wander around killing even more people, because nothing matters but your stupid little normal life, and your stupid little _friends_.” He snorts. “But you can’t even do _that _right, can you? You’re failing school, you put your friends in danger, and you can’t even get your mom to believe you about vampires.” 

Her mouth is dry and tears are welling up in her eyes. “Jason I’m—” 

“See ya, Blondie,” he says. “I’m going to go find the _real _Slayer. She managed to at least save _one _person that night.” 

Steph stands there, alone, in the middle of the graveyard for a long, quiet moment, before her knees give out from under her and she starts to cry. 

* * *

Harper’s eyes are swimming from all of the reading she’s been doing. Analyzing handwriting from the era of extra flourishes and fs that are really the letter s in disguise is giving her a headache, so she grabs Tim and goes off to find the vending machine. 

“Ugh, I hate this so much. Don’t any of these books have any _new _information about Killer Croc?” 

“No, Tim, that would be too easy. It’s all “No weapon forged of man.” “It took an army.” Like, they really need to get a thesaurus.” 

The door at the end of the hallway opens, and Jason pokes his head through. “Oh hey Harper. Tim.” 

“Jason! Did Steph find you?” Harper says, sighing in relief. 

“Must have missed her,” Jason says. “Hey, I’ve got something to show you. Tim, go get the others.” 

“Sure,” Tim says, and then dashes towards the library. 

“What have you found?” Harper says, moving towards Jason. 

“It’s amazing,” Jason says. “You won’t believe it.” 

“Harper, don’t go near him!” Ms. Head is there all of a sudden, her skirt swirling around her in the faint light of the hallway. 

“Ms. Head?” Harper looks over her shoulder, confused. “I heard you were gone.” 

“Harper, come towards me,” Ms. Head says. She’s holding a pendant of some sort in her hand, holding it out like a shield. 

“What?” 

“That’s not Jason.” 

Harper pauses, confused, and that’s all that (not?) Jason needs, because before she can take another step, there’s a hand around her throat and she’s been yanked backwards and there are fangs an inch away from her neck. 

Harper screams, because the breath on her neck is cold, the hands are clammy, and it’s just like what happened to her mom, just like she’s been afraid of happening every day since that awful night, when she was protected by nothing more than a magical barrier. 

“Wrong!” He laughs. “I _am _Jason! At _last_.” 

“Oh God,” Tim says, hovering behind Ms. Head’s shoulder, his face pale. Harper looks at him, her eyes wide, wondering if he’s about to watch her die. 

“I’ve got a message for Blondie,” he says, his voice too close to her ear. 

“Why don’t you tell me yourself?” 

Harper feels her heart rate slow, even as Jason grabs her and spins to face the other direction. It’s Steph, it’s Steph’s voice. Everything is going to be okay. 

“Well, it's not really the kind of message you tell. It sort of involves finding the bodies of all your friends.” 

“Jason. You’ve got to fight it,” Steph urges. “This isn’t you.” 

“You’re really stupid, aren’t you Slayer? Sorry, your buddy’s dead. All that’s left... is me.” 

“Leave them alone,” Steph says. “I’m the one you want.”

“But she’s so _scared_. It’s adorable, really.” Suddenly, he’s cut off by a howl of pain, and he releases Harper. 

She catches a glimpse of Tim, holding his Star of David necklace in his hand, before a hand grips Harper and yanks her back, behind Tim and the safety of the holy symbol in his hand. 

Jason stalks towards Steph. 

“Well, this should be fun.” 

He grabs Steph, and for a moment, it looks like they’re embracing. 

“Jay--”

She’s thrown backwards into the wall, and the door slams open, and all that they can hear is the sound of Jason’s laugher.

Harper scrambles forward towards Steph, who’s still slumped against the wall, staring at the door. “Steph? Are you okay?” 

Someone turns on the light, and now, Harper can see her clearly. 

She’s pale and her clothes are dirty and torn. Her hair is a wild, tangled mess. Her eyes are red, and there are tear tracks still shiny and damp on her face. 

She doesn’t answer Harper. 

* * *

“You’re wrong,” Dick says.

Talia and Steph both look _awful_. Talia has bruises around her wrist, and she’s clinging her Hamsa amulet tightly. Meanwhile Steph is completely silent, and she’s leaning against Harper, and still refusing to look at Duke or Tim.

“He can’t. He _wouldn’t_.”

“My orb of Thesulah that was bonded to Jason’s soul shattered,” Talia says.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Bruce demands.

Talia looks away, her lips a thin line. “I—I was delayed in warning you. My father—he strenuously disagreed.”

“Why did this happen?” Steph asks, her voice hoarse. “_How_?”

Talia looks at her, and unbends slightly. “I—I didn’t know this. There was a clause. In the spell.”

“A clause?” Bruce asks. Dick’s heart is in his throat.

“He felt peace,” Talia says. “He was _happy_, pure and simple. And that broke the spell.”

Dick collapses into his chair.

“I am sorry,” Talia whispers. “I didn’t know.”

“Cast it again,” Steph demands. She stands up. Her legs are unsteady, but she shakes off Harper’s concerned arm. “You cast it once, you can cast it again! You can stop this, before it gets any worse.”

Talia looks at her, and then she looks away. “I can’t.”

“What?” Dick is not the only one who asks this.

He’s known Talia for years, known her since before he’d even known Jason. He’s never seen her like this.

“The spell is not a simple one to cast,” Talia says. “It took… I had to use my father’s supplies in order to cast it.”

“Talia,” Bruce says, pale.

“My father is recalling me home,” Talia says. “He’s already… I can’t cast that spell again. I don’t have the power, the supplies. My father even destroyed my computer where I kept the spell.”

“Well, screw him! Do it anyways!”

“I can’t,” Talia says. “I’m sorry, Stephanie.”

Steph lets out a furious cry, and lunges at Talia.

Cass appears, and she pulls Steph back. “Don’t,” Cass says. She’s covered in dirt and blood and demon slime of some sort, and she looks exhausted. “What are you doing?”

“Jason’s gone,” Steph says, and then she turns around and hugs Cass. Her shoulders begin to shake, and Dick looks away, feeling intrusive for seeing them like this.

“The Red Hood’s back,” Talia confirms, her voice soft.

* * *

“Talia,” Bruce says. “What will your father do?”

Talia looks up at him, her eyes heavily lidded with exhaustion. Despite the grey in her hair and the beginnings of age lines around her eyes and mouth, she’s every bit as beautiful as she was the day they first met, when they were both young and foolish.

“He’s calling me back home. He says he’ll send an agent to watch the Hellmouth… and you.”

“And Jason.”

“He doesn’t care about Jason,” Talia says. “He never has, Beloved.”

“Jason’s mother—”

“Was a Potential. Not a Slayer.” Talia shakes her head. “He’s obsessed.”

“He doesn’t know about Stephanie?” Bruce says, a fear that he never knew he even needed to feel crawling up his throat.

“Not as far as I know. And I will keep it that way.” Talia raises a hand to tuck a hair behind her ear, and Bruce catches her wrist gently.

The bruises around her wrist are thick and ugly. As if someone very strong had held her. “Did he do this?”

Talia pulls her hands away, and Bruce hates it when she looks like that, when she looks _afraid_. “I need to leave.”

“Talia…”

“I love you,” Talia says. “Please, believe this. I only wanted to give you your son back. I didn’t know about any of the rest.”

“I know,” Bruce says. “You’re nothing like your father.”

“I’m too much like him,” Talia whispers, shaking her head. “That’s why I have to go back.”

“Stay,” Bruce says, like he’s said so many other times before. “Talia. I can keep you safe.”

She reaches up and cups his face with her hand. He presses his own against hers, smelling the familiar jasmine scent of her perfume.

“You can’t. Not from him.”

The kiss is bittersweet, and all too short.

She breaks it off and turns to move away, her eyes full of tears.

“I love you too,” Bruce says, just a little too softly, when she’s almost too far away.

But he knows that she heard it.

* * *

“Steph,” Duke grabs Steph by the wrist when she’s about to leave. “We need to talk.”

Steph looks at him, and she feels cold to the bone, exhausted, and she just wants to curl up into a ball and never speak again, but…

She owes Duke this.

“Yeah,” she whispers, and lets Duke pull her into the stacks, into the warren of the library.

She looks at Duke—brilliant, clever Duke, whose life had been so good and so _normal _before Steph had dragged him into her world and ruined everything.

She can’t meet his gaze. She can’t stand to see his hatred there. He’s one of her best friends—he _was _one of her best friends, it’s important that she keep the tenses right. She doesn’t want to see how he looks at her, now that she’s ruined his life.

“Why did you do that?” He demands.

“What?” Steph frowns. This isn’t where she expected this conversation to go.

“You threw me out. You _locked me out_ of my _own house_.”

“Oh,” Steph blinks. “I didn’t want—you don’t want to see that.” She shakes her head. “Duke they—they were your _parents_. I didn’t want you to have to fight them. I didn’t want you to—if you’re going to hate someone for killing your parents, it should be _me_, I—”

“Wait,” Duke interrupts. “You think I hate you?”

Steph laughs. “Why not? I do.”

“What?”

“I killed him,” Steph says. “My dad. He became a vampire, and it was my fault, and then I killed him. And he kept asking me—he kept calling my name, asking for my help, asking me to save him, to let him go, to spare him.” She laughs, again, trying not to go back there, to the smell of the warehouse, to the sound of her father’s screams as he and the other vampires trapped in there burn, to the feel of the ash on her skin. “You don’t deserve that. You shouldn’t have to hear that. Better for you to hate me than hate yourself.”

“Steph—” Duke says, and she turns away.

“I get it,” Steph says. “I’ll keep out of your way—”

“No!” Duke yells.

And the next thing she knows, he’s thrown his arms around her, hugging her from behind.

“Steph. I don’t hate you.” Something damp is pressed against her back, and she realizes, with a wrench of her stomach, that Duke is crying. “You’re—you’re one of my best friends, and I—I don’t blame you. Not for any of it. It’s—it wasn’t them, and I know that, and… I miss them so much, Steph.” He’s sobbing now, the force of them shaking both of them. “It’s not fair, Steph. It’s _not fair_.”

Steph grabs Duke’s hands where they’re joined around the middle of her stomach, and tilts her head back towards, towards him, and lets her own tears flow freely.

“I’m sorry,” she says, staring up at the ceiling while Duke embraces her. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

* * *

“So, you two are good now?” Harper asks, when Duke and Steph finally come out of the stacks.

“Yeah,” Duke says, smiling at Steph. Steph looks like she’s been through so much, already.

It’s been a long, long night.

“Is now a bad time to remember that the Joker and Harley are trying to resurrect an ancient demon that eats entire towns?” Tim asks, looking up from the book that he’d been reading.

“A demon which took an _entire army _to beat,” Harper complains.

“Who needs an army?” Cass sniffs. “We have _two _Slayers.”

“That doesn’t really help us with the fact that “no weapon forged” can kill him,” Tim says.

“Are you sure? I have a lot of weapons,” Steph jokes. “I’ve got swords, and crossbows, and longbows, and maces, and morning stars, and most importantly, I’ve got pointy sticks!”

“… oh!” Duke says, sitting upright. “I’ve got an idea!”

“Should I be worried?” Harper says.

“Maybe,” Duke admits. “Listen, Steph, why don’t you go and get some sleep? We’ll handle this part, and it’s almost three in the morning.”

“I’m fine, Duke,” Steph says.

“Uh, no.” Kon says. “Even I know that’s crap. Listen. I’ll drive you home. We’ll leave the nerds to their… nerd stuff.”

“Research,” Tim says.

“Nerd stuff,” Kon repeats. “Look, today has sucked massively, and tomorrow’s also gonna probably suck, but like, three hours of shut eye will probably make tomorrow that much more bearable, right?”

“Technically, it’s today already,” Steph says.

“Well, fine, if you want to be a nerd about it,” Kon says. “Look at you, they’re catching, we’re getting you out of here now.” Kon takes Steph by the arm and escorts her out of the library.

Duke watches them go, and grins.

“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Harper asks. “Or did you just say that to get Steph to go to bed, because honestly, I dig it.”

“No, I’ve got a real plan.” He looks at Harper, and then he looks at Tim. “We’re going to need a wig, a dress, and a pair of heels.”

“… I don’t like this plan.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Duke says.

* * *

“I _really _don’t like this plan,” says Tim, adjusting the wig.

“Look, you make a more convincing feminine girlfriend than Harper, we tested this,” Duke says, adjusting his uniform.

“Where did you even _get _that uniform?” Tim demands. He’s surprisingly balanced on the high heels, although Harper had still insisted on giving him wedges that weren’t too high, just in case.

“I stole it from Jean Paul. He’s JROTC.”

“Really?”

“His dad made him. Me and a few friends have been inflicting pacifist philosophy on him, so we think he’ll make it out soon.”

“… how do you have _time_?”

“I don’t sleep,” Duke says. “Anyways. Follow my lead, and don’t say anything.”

Tim looks outraged.

“Do it for Steph,” wheedles Duke. He’s still plumbing the depths of Tim Drake’s brain, but he’s fairly certain that this will work.

He does catch Harper taking a covert photo as the two of them head onto the military base, but he figures he’ll mention it to Tim at a later date.

* * *

Bruce opens the door to his home, and he stops flat in his tracks.

Almost every photograph on the wall has been pulled off their hooks, the glass forming a fine layer over the floorboards. The photos themselves have been ripped and torn, the frames snapped in half.

The only photo left standing is the one taken so shortly before everything went wrong—the one from Babs and Dick’s graduation. Dick and Babs are in their black and gold graduation robes, their hats tilted to the side as they embrace, Jason smushed between them, laughing. Bruce stands with his hand on Dick’s shoulder, a rare smile on his own face.

No—he’s wrong. There’s another photo. A new photo. It’s been nailed into place.

It’s a photo of Cass, Duke, Steph, Tim, Harper, and Conner, at Homecoming, the six of them laughing. It’s a bad print—probably from social media, on normal paper instead of photo paper.

But that’s not what stops Bruce cold.

It’s the way that all of the faces are scribbled out with black marker, and numbers are written over Cassandra and Steph.

The numbers two and three.

“You haven’t lost your touch,” is scrawled beneath the photo, in Jason’s familiar writing.

There’s the sound of crunching glass, and Bruce spins around, to see Dick standing there.

“Where’s Duke?” Bruce asks, voice heavy.

“He and Cass are off running an errand. I saw that the door was open.” Dick looks around. Swallows. “We did this.”

“No.”

“We left him alone with her,” Dick says. “If we hadn’t, maybe he’d…”

“She was his mother,” Bruce whispers, because he’d asked himself that same question time after time, these past ten years. “He wanted to spend time with her.”

Dick punches the wall. “We only just got him back!” He yells. “It’s not—we only just found him again.”

And they won’t be getting him back this time. Talia can’t cast the spell, and no one else they know has even a fraction of her power, even if they could find the spell or the ingredients again.

This time…

Bruce might have to do it, what he couldn’t bear to bring himself to do the last time.

He might have to drive a stake through Jason’s heart, for the sake of the entire world.

* * *

Jason carefully puts the last of the pieces of the demon in place, watching as a bright, terrible glow begins to emanate from them.

He shields his eyes but refuses to look away.

The fresh blood from earlier has filled his entire body with a thrumming energy that he hasn’t felt for a long time. Or maybe it’s just the thrill of the hunt, the adrenaline of the kill. Certainly no animal blood or blood bank donation bag has made him feel like this.

He’s ready to go, ready to kill, in a way that he hasn’t been since he had stumbled away from the kill, content and smug from a job well done, only to feel himself doubled over in pain as someone—Talia, but he hadn’t known that then—wrapped him in one of the oldest curses known to humanity.

Now, he’s back, and he’s eager for the taste, not just of blood, but for _Slayer _blood. The last time, it had been the most wonderful thing, higher than any adrenaline rush or drug could ever give. The feeling of pure euphoria, and the strength that followed…

And that had been an _ordinary _Slayer, who hadn’t known him from any other vampire in the entire world.

This time, it was going to be Blondie, or maybe Cassandra, or even _both_. And either way, he was going to enjoy this.

The glow of Killer Croc’s resurrection began to fade, and he grins.

“_Hungry_,” Croc groans.

“Don’t worry, big guy,” Jason says, grinning ear to ear. “We’ve got a nice all-you-can-eat buffet lined right up for you.”

* * *

“I know your birthday isn’t for two weeks, but happy birthday!” Harper says, gesturing broadly with a grin on her face. 

“What is this?” Steph says, staring at the heavy wooden crate that her friends have placed in the center of the table.

“Your birthday present! I was going to get you a gift card, but I thought, we should do something special this year,” Duke says with a completely straight face.

“So my present _isn’t _a drag show by Tim?”

“No, that’s just a free bonus,” Kon says, patting his boyfriend on the back.

“And not a moment too soon,” Bruce says. He looks exhausted, and Steph can really relate to that.

“No present for me?” Cass demands, but she’s smirking.

“When’s your birthday?”

“No idea. My father did not believe in birthdays. Or holidays. Or breaks.”

There was a moment of silence to respect the living horror that was Cass’s childhood.

“… well, we’ll think of a day, and get you something,” Duke says, clapping his hands together. “The point is! We have a plan, now we just need to figure out where things are going down.”

Cass frowns. “Can’t I… just punch him? Seems… complicated.”

“Cass,” Tim says. “It says it took an _army _last time to beat him.”

Cass tilts her head to one side, clearly not understanding Tim’s point.

The problem was, Cass probably had a point.

“We can punch him together?” Steph offers, weakly, but she can’t quite get Jason’s comments out of her head. Cass _likes _being the Slayer; loves it, and she’s good at it in a way that Steph can’t even dream of being. If anyone could one-punch Killer Croc into oblivion, it would be her.

“We can argue about Cassandra’s ability to one-punch a demon that consumes everything in his path _after _we figure out where he is,” Bruce says, and yikes, he’s pissed. Steph immediately shrinks back, gripping her wrists behind her back and trying to imitate Cass’s at-attention stance.

“Well, it’s got the munchies, right?” Harper says, oblivious to Bruce’s displeasure or uncaring, or both. “So he’ll want to start in a crowded area, with lots of humans to snack on after his really long nap.”

“What, like the Cave?” Duke says with a frown.

“Can’t be, the Cave is closed this week,” Tim says automatically.

“… where else _is _there?”

“The strip mall?” Kon volunteers.

“Wait, we have one of those?” Steph blinks.

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not as popular as it used to be, because online shopping, but people still go there.”

“Well, this might be what finally pushes it into closing,” Steph says. “Alright, let’s go!”

She turns around, and pauses.

“Hey, where’s Cass?”

* * *

Cass hotwires Bruce’s car and drives to the mall.

She’s not _good _at driving, per se, but she’s getting better, and anyways, it’s really easy to get somewhere fast when you treat stop signs as suggestions.

She makes it to the mall in record time, and, sure enough, people are pouring out of the mall and screaming, so she’s definitely in the right place.

She grins and runs towards the monster.

The others don’t _understand_. It’s not their fault; they are used to dealing with Steph, who has very little training. Even Bruce seems to not understand what Cass is capable of, what she has been taught to do. Bruce is a very good Watcher, but… Father must have been better, because Father always _understood _exactly what Cass could do.

She finds the demon standing in the Food Court, flanked by the Red Hood and the Joker. There is no sign of the woman Harley Quinn, but Cass’s attention is really only on Killer Croc.

The demon is eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and horrific, clawed hands. His face is that of… well, a crocodile, and there’s no reason that Cass should be surprised by that, but demons are rarely quite so literal, in her defense.

“_Hungry_,” the demon, growls.

If Steph were here, she’d probably have some sort of snide commentary about the food court being closed for business, or maybe even a pun, but word play is difficult in English, and Cass knows what she’s good at, so she picks up the nearest table and throws it at the demon.

“You’re not the one we expected,” the Joker laughs, as Killer Croc stumbles backwards under the force of the blow.

“We should have,” the Red Hood says. “She’s the only one who knows what she’s doing. She’s finally figured out that Blondie would slow her down.”

Cass growls and throws herself across the food court.

The demon is as ferocious as the books said. He is strong and powerful, and everywhere she turns, his mouth is, snapping open and shut, seeking food… seeking _her_.

He is a difficult fight.

It would normally take an entire army.

Cass smiles, and reaches inwards.

Her father, her Watcher, he taught her to do this so long ago.

Inside of herself is a tangle of magic. It is ancient and untamed, dark and light, strong and yet brittle, stretched thin as a wire but coiled around every part of her.

And she grips it in her mind, even as it tries to slip away from her, and she pulls on it.

The power flows out, into her, through her limbs and her mind.

Everything is sharper, faster, _better_, now, including her.

She grins, and she begins to fight.

She doesn’t need fancy tools or tricks.

She is Cassandra Cain, the Vampire Slayer, and all she needs is herself.

* * *

Kon’s van pulls into the mall parking lot, and yep, there’s panicked people, and also a really bad parking job with Bruce’s car.

“Is it still running?” Bruce asks, frowning.

“Is that really what you’re focusing on right now?” Steph demands.

“Good point. Steph, go in there and help her, Duke, Tim, Harper, help me move into position.”

Steph nods, and throws open the door, going running towards the sound of the screaming and the smashing of furniture. 

When she gets there, she stops straight in her tracks.

Cass is glowing.

Or well, not glowing, not exactly.

A thick, dark aura is wrapped around her, almost pitch black in color, the darkness of it almost blotting out her features entirely. To Steph’s instincts, she’s almost completely indistinguishable from a demon, and if it weren’t for the way that she moves, she might almost believe that it’s not Cass, fighting Killer Croc.

What is she _doing_?

_How _is she doing it?

If Steph had needed further proof that Cass was capable of far more things than Steph was as the Slayer, here was her proof.

Somehow, Cass had accessed _something_, and it was making her… more.

Steph could certainly never move that fast.

The way that Cass was moving was impossibly graceful and fast, faster than any vampire that Steph had ever seen. As Slayers, they could keep pace easily, but Cass was surpassing them easily.

She was right. She doesn’t need Steph’s help.

The Joker and Jason—no, not Jason, she can’t think of hima s Jason, not now—just stand by and watch, as mesmerized by this scene as she is.

Of course, as Steph realizes this, Killer Croc’s mouth opens wide, and he only misses Cass by an inch. Cass spins away, but suddenly, the aura around her flickers, and Cass trips over a fallen chair, sprawling onto the ground, completely vulnerable.

“Hey!” Steph yells, desperate to distract the demon from Cass, who is blinking slowly on the ground, and still hasn’t gotten up.

She stands on the food court table nearest to her, and she feels a flicker of relief as she spots the others, dragging the heavy crate with them as they go.

“Hey Ugly! Look at me!” Steph calls.

Killer Croc turns towards her, away from Cass.

“Who are you,” he hisses.

“I’m the one who’s going to kill you,” Steph says, putting her hands on her hips and speaking with every inch of bravado in her body.

The demon _laughs_, and wow, Steph never needed to hear that.

“No weapon forged can kill me.”

“That was then,” Steph says, as Duke hands her the rocket launcher.

She props it up on her shoulder. The Joker and the Red Hood immediately scramble out of the way. Harper has already grabbed Cass and dragged her away.

Which means Steph has a nice, clear shot at the demon.

The resulting explosion is quite possibly the most satisfying thing Steph has ever done. Way better than therapy. Or at least, way better than the therapy that _she’s _had, which mostly consists of therapists trying to get her to admit vampires are a hallucination, rather than dealing with trauma.

As the fire suppression systems go off, Steph looks around, and realizes that Jason and the Joker are both missing.

“Gather up the pieces! Keep them apart! Cass, go that way, I’ll go this way! We need to find them!”

Steph darts forward, through the smoke, and goes to find the demon that’s taken the place of one of her best friends.

She catches up with him outside of a Hot Topic.

“Hey Blondie,” he says. The sprinklers are still going, soaking them both through. Steph struggles to breathe, as she looks at him. He looks almost exactly the same, but somehow, he’s… different. Crueler. Angrier. More deadly.

Steph puts up her fists, and swallows down her pain. “What’s the matter? Scared to fight without your daddy to back you up?”

His face twists into its vampiric visage, and that’s better, she can at least pretend it’s not him when he’s looking like this.

The battle is tough, tougher than anything she’s ever experienced before. All of those times she tried to get Jason to spar with her, and now, of course, it’s for real, and it’s deadly. He’s good, he’s easily as good as her, maybe better. He’s not ancient like Black Mask or Joker, he’s not fresh and untrained like the fledglings she finds in graveyards. He’s skilled but full of energy, not yet reaching the heights of his powers, but deadly enough despite it.

Steph kicks him through the window of the store, sending glass everywhere.

She breathes heavily through her nose and pulls her stake out of her jacket.

She strides up towards him, each step feeling like it’s covering miles.

He’s pushing himself up, but pauses when he sees her, his face returning to his normal one.

Seventeen years old.

“You can’t do it,” he says. “You can’t kill me.”

“Try me,” Steph snarls, hefting the stake up and grabbing him by his shirt collar.

“Aw, c’mon Blondie, don’t be mad,” he laughs. “You’re my best friend.”

She freezes, and he laughs again.

“Knew it. You don’t have the balls,” he says.

Steph’s fingers tighten in his shirt, and she should do it. She _should _kill him. Turn him to dust, because who knows who else he’ll kill, who else he’ll hurt. He knows her too well, and he’s got allies, he knows her Watcher, he knows her friends, and if she doesn’t stop him now, will she be able to later?

But he’s Jason.

“Face it, Blondie,” Jason says, reaching up and forcing her fingers to let go. “You can’t kill me.”

Raw, unbridled rage surges through her, because he’s _right_, and she _hates it_, and she _hates him_, and—

She lifts up her foot and kicks him right where it hurts, with all of her Slayer Strength.

He lets out a pathetic cry, and drops to his knees, the smug look gone.

She breathes out heavily through her nose, the water from the sprinklers hiding her tears.

“Give me time,” she whispers.

Then she goes to find her other friends. 


	5. whisper in a dead man’s ear: part iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Red Hood unleashes hell on Stephanie and her friends, while they try to keep themselves and their families safe. 
> 
> But they might have less time than they’d like, because powerful forces are at play... and they want to bring about the end of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus, guys, writer's block is a real pain in the ass. Buckle up, this is a long one! 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: Stalking and harassment, blood, Harley's storyline, slutshaming/teen pregnancy shaming, violence, police, and character death.

_The day Steph’s life changes forever, the phone rings. _

_Her dad has always been weird, and insisted that they keep the landline, even though literally no one else has one anymore. But her dad always gets weirdly old-fashioned about the weirdest things. And it’s not like Mom’s going to be willing to argue with him about it. _

_She’s up in her room, tired from a long day of school and a rough night of sleep the night before—her dreams had been plagued with blood and monsters, things that didn’t make sense but scared her nonetheless. _

_Her dad opens her door, his grin strange and almost feral, and Steph jumps to her feet, shoving her phone under her pillow on instinct. _

_“What is it?” _

_“Good news,” he says. “You’re the Slayer, baby girl.” _

_“... what?” _

* * *

The day of Steph’s birthday dawns annoyingly bright and sunny. 

She should be thrilled; it’s not every Slayer who gets to turn seventeen. 

But not every Slayer gets killed once already and ruins everyone else’s lives just by being in proximity to them. 

If Harper had just let her drown, would Tim’s mom still be alive? Would Duke’s parents? Would Jason have lost his soul?

She grabs the first outfit she sees and then heads out of the door, without stopping to grab breakfast or check in on her mom. Their plans are for tonight anyways.

There’s a package on the doorstep with her name on it.

Steph stares at it for a moment, before bending over to open it. 

It’s the old-fashioned kind of package, wrapped in crinkly brown paper and tied with a string. The letters of her name are formed with a gorgeous handwriting—Bruce’s handwriting, to be exact.

It’s nice of him to think of her; to get her something. The rock in her stomach that’s been there ever since—well, ever since her father pushed open the door to her bedroom to tell her that he’d just received the best news in the world—shifts slightly, because it’s not often that someone does something just like this for her, something special and—

There’s a doll in the package.

The doll has been decapitated, its eyes gouged out, and its skin melted, as if someone had held it against an open flame. The clothes it’s wearing are—well, they’re _her _clothes, there’s no way about it. A leather jacket, jeans, and a purple sweater, all exact replicas of things she has in her closet. They’ve been left intact enough to be recognizable, despite suffering through the same kind of damage as the rest of the doll.

She stares down at the blonde head of the doll, the stone twice as heavy as before.

There’s no name, no other note, but she knows.

Jason’s left her a birthday gift.

She shoves the doll into her backpack—she’ll bury it later, _deal with it _later—before storming off, tears welling up in her eyes. It shouldn’t matter, it’s a _doll_, and but the message is so clear that she wants to break down.

He’s playing with her.

And one day, he’s going to get bored, and do to her what he did with the doll.

“Stephanie?”

Steph turns around, frowning at the unfamiliar voice.

The woman standing in front of her is elegant and white-haired, her clothes neat and crisp, all the way from her sensible navy cardigan to her black sneakers.

“Who are you?” Steph asks.

The woman smiles.

“My name is Leslie,” she says. “Happy birthday.”

Steph reacts without thinking, grabbing the stake from her bag and holding it out.

“Easy,” Leslie says. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“You’re not human.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m evil. You know that.”

Steph swallows, and looks at this woman, who appears so… safe. “What are you?”

Leslie smiles. “I’m what you might call a Power.”

“A Power?” Steph repeats. “Sounds kind of pretentious, doesn’t it?”

She laughs. “Perhaps a bit. Why don’t you sit down?”

They’re standing in front of a park bench—had that been there a moment ago?—Steph looks around, but, reluctantly, sits.

“I know things are difficult right now,” Leslie says.

Steph chokes on a burst of hysterical laughter. “You can say that.”

“I can’t do anything to help, I’m afraid.” Leslie shakes her head. “The rules about interference are quite strict.”

“Interference?” Steph asks.

“The Powers That Be are very firm,” Leslie smiles. “Humanity must be the factor that makes these decisions. Destiny has to play out, and you will have a role. That role cannot be interfered with. However. If you survive the events to come… I know you have doubts, about your role as a Slayer. If you survive, I will be happy to help you find those answers.”

“Do you think I will survive?” Steph asks.

“I hope,” Leslie smiles. “That’s all any of us can do.”

“Hope,” Steph says, wrapping her arms around herself. She laughs, and it’s hollow and bitter in her mouth. “There’s not a lot of that going around these days.”

“That just makes it all the more precious, doesn’t it?” Leslie says. “Goodbye, Stephanie. And happy birthday.”

When Steph turns to look at Leslie, she’s gone.

“Well. That’s not creepy at all.”

* * *

Despite everything—despite the stress and the fear and the grief—life goes on.

“Harper, why are you joining the swim team?” 

“Well, someone needs to go undercover to figure out who killed the pool cleaner! Plus, I get to hang out with cute girls!” 

“Fair enough,” Tim says, and he goes back to his book. 

“Did Steph look when I walked by in my swimsuit?”

“I’m telling you Harper, she’s straight.” 

“Ugh, fine, I heard there was at least one lesbian on the swim team, maybe I can flirt there.” 

“Don’t die.” 

“They’re swimmers, Tim. It’ll be fine.” 

_One Week Later_...

“Did the swim captain try to eat you?” Steph demands, dropping a towel over Harper’s shoulders. 

“She was a _siren_!” Harper protests. “It doesn’t count! She seduced me with hypnosis!” 

“But she definitely tried to eat you.”

“... yes, fine.” 

“Harper, please just date someone normal.” 

“No promises.” 

* * *

Harley feels tired. She feels so, so tired these days, her head light and her entire world twisting and turning constantly.

She’s cold, too. So, so cold.

Mister J and Jay Jay aren’t going out much for other food. There were people in the dungeons, before, but they’re all gone now. Harley remembers burning the bodies, at least vaguely.

Jay Jay seems to have noticed, at least, which is sweet of him. He’s been doting on her lately, bringing her food (rich in iron, all of it) and lots of water. He hasn’t let Mister J hit her ever since he noticed, too.

It’s been a while since she’s been this bad. Last time Jay Jay was around, he was young and feral, and Mister J didn’t like leaving her alone with him for too long. Fledglings are always thirsty, always wanting to drink more than their fill, and she was… tempting.

But now, Jay Jay is older, and he’s in control, and sometimes entire days go by without her seeing her pudding. She… she minds it less than she would have thought.

Harley probably will be alright in another week. Maybe two, depending on how well she manages at sleeping and resting. It’d be shorter if she gets a blood transfusion, but Mister J and Jay Jay drank all of the bags ages ago, and if they had more, they wouldn’t waste any on her. 

Harley stares at her own reflection in the mirror, and frowns.

Had she always had blonde hair?

She reaches up and touches it, and sure enough, there are dark roots, growing out.

She grips the porcelain of the sink.

Two weeks.

Or… maybe it’ll take longer.

Maybe.

She’ll tell Jay Jay that. Hopefully, he won’t be too upset.

* * *

No one’s asked Cass about it. She’s glad about it.

It had felt exactly like he’d said it would. The energy flowing through her, bringing her closer to the _being_, to who she’s _supposed _to be.

It’s not that she’s ashamed of it…

But she is ashamed of how she learned it.

Because _he _was bad, and so that means… maybe there’s a reason that Stephanie doesn’t know how to do it, beyond her not being raised for it. Maybe this is one of those things that he did that was bad and wrong.

She doesn’t _want _it to be wrong, she doesn’t want _him _to be wrong, because if _he’s _wrong, that means _she’s _wrong, and…

She doesn’t want to be wrong.

She’s not like Steph, she’s not…

She’s not.

She pushes away those thoughts, because they’re not helpful. All they do is bring back those memories, of those horrible first few days when she was the Slayer, before she _realized_…

Before she realized exactly who her Watcher, her Father was.

There’s no time for things like that now. Not with the Red Hood on the loose.

He’s dangerous, and he’s already killed a Slayer.

She will not let him kill another; not her, not Steph, with her kindness and her anger and her desire to _live_, in a way that Cass wishes she really understood, but she will do everything to make sure that one way, or another, Stephanie Brown will not die again.

Not on her watch.

* * *

The address is written in Bruce’s careful handwriting and looks completely out of place on the screen of Tim’s phone.

Bruce doesn’t know that Tim’s found this, of course. He certainly doesn’t know that Tim has spent the past few weeks digging through the books Bruce keeps locked away in his office, looking for anything and everything that can provide him with answers… that can help him _fix _this.

Steph and Cass don’t know either—they’ve got enough going on, and Tim doesn’t want to worry them. They’re fighting tooth and nail, every day. Jason—or the Red Hood, really—has been preying on students at the school, and the two of them are running themselves ragged trying to keep as many people alive as possible, while keeping on top of Gotham’s regular nonsense. Tim and the others have been stepping up as much as they can, but despite everything, they’re massively outclassed by the vampires and demons that stalk Gotham at night.

Tim… Tim needs to change that. He can still feel the coldness of the cell, the roughness of the bars beneath his hands.

_Helpless. Useless. Worthless. _

Harper and Duke know some, have helped him distract Bruce and pick locks in order to get what he’s needed in order to end up here, but even they don’t really understand what it is that he’s trying to do. And Tim doesn’t particularly _want _to explain, doesn’t want to tell them, because if he did, they might stop helping him.

Tim swallows, staring up at the house. It’s a huge, sprawling place, decrepit and ancient. Once, it was probably magnificent, in the kind of old East Coast Money type of way. It probably wouldn’t have looked out of place on an Ivy League Campus, were it well-kept. If he squinted, he could almost see it in its glory, bustling with life and servants, the paths neatly swept, the hedges trimmed, and the windows glowing with welcoming light.

But now, it’s in shambles, the plants overgrown and the porch sagging. The windows are boarded up, and everything about it is steeped in a sense of dread.

And it’s why Tim is here, after all.

He mounts the creaking steps, trying to keep himself steady.

(He’s not sure if he means physically or mentally.)

The door itself is a gigantic piece of solid oak. It’s unpainted, just stained, with a gigantic brass knocker shaped like a horned, elaborately toothed monster, scowling at whoever is daring to knock on the door.

It’s very over the top, but then again, that’s why Tim’s here.

He grips the knocker, which is almost painfully cold to the touch, and raps it three times.

The sound echoes, each blow of the metal on metal far louder than it has any right to be, which is really just _unnecessary_, in Tim’s opinion, before the door creaks open.

“… am I really supposed to just walk through? You could at least say hello!” Tim yells into the darkness.

“You are a strange one indeed,” a voice says from behind him.

Tim forces himself not to yelp, although he wants too, _badly_, but the books were all very clear about what to do.

“What is your name?”

The figure in front of him certainly _looks _human. But then again, by all accounts, that’s common enough for demons. He’s tall, and his dark hair is streaked with white. His eyes are a bright, almost iridescent green, and his teeth are unnaturally sharp looking. Not like a vampire’s teeth, but… pointed, somehow.

“You can call me Robin,” Tim says.

“… Robin,” the demon says. He’s wearing a dark green cape, the clasp keeping it together an intricate, almost hypnotic twist of gold. Beneath the cape, he seems to be wearing loose fitting clothes that move like smoke, of an indeterminate color. “Ah, you’ve been warned against giving a true name.” The demon laughs, and the sound sends shivers down Tim’s spine. This man, this demon, this… _thing _is a different kind of terrifying than the Joker. The Joker is chaotic, sprawling destruction. This… this is pure control.

But no less dangerous for it.

“You know, Grayson gave that name when he sought knowledge. As did Todd.” The demon laughs again. “I will not hold it against you… Timothy Drake.”

His name in the demon’s mouth is raw pain. Tim’s knees buckle and he falls to the ground, as pain licks across his skin like flames he cannot see, his hands scraping on the roughness of the boards of the porch, and he bites down on his tongue, _hard _to stop himself from screaming.

Blood fills his mouth, and, eventually, the pain subsides.

He spits a glob of blood at the demon’s feet.

“I seek a bargain with the Demon’s Head,” Tim says, just like the books all say to do.

“I am the agent of the Demon’s Will,” the demon responds, looming over him. He smiles, and holds out his hand to Tim. “I am called Ra’s. So… what is it that you seek, Magician?”

Tim gets to his feet without accepting the offered hand, and starts as he realizes that, at some point, they ended up inside of the mansion.

There’s a fire blazing in the fireplace, and where the rough, splintering boards of the porch were, now there’s a soft, plush rug. Candles flicker with their own weaker flames all around him, and the air smells heavily of smoke and old paper and… something else. Something stranger, and infinitely more powerful.

“So, what shall it be, Magician? A life, perhaps? Your mother?” Ra’s waves a hand lazily, and Tim doesn’t think that it’s his imagination that the demon’s nails are more like talons. An image appears in the fire, his mother, smiling in a way that he had almost never seen her. Tim stares, his throat burning, and he tells himself it’s from holding in the scream. “Or perhaps… you know better than to be so sentimental. Power, then?” Hands grip his chin, and Tim is forced to look up, into those unnatural green eyes. “The kind of power your Slayer has, perhaps? Or do you look down upon the brawn, and seek… _more_?”

Tim pulls himself away, stumbling back, his mind racing as he tries to focus.

A hand grips his arm. The strength in that hand is painful, like Steph or Cass, only there’s something warm and comforting about their grips. This hand feels like ice, digging into his skin, trapping him in place.

“Come now, Magician. Surely the Detective prepared you for this. Surely he warned you about this.” Ra’s smiles, mocking the fiction that Tim has told Bruce where he’s going… has told _anyone _where he’s going.

“I need an Orb of Thessulah,” Tim snaps out.

Ra’s raises his eyebrows, and the grip vanishes.

“How unexpected.”

“The Red Hood has come back. Is it _really_?”

“And what, you believe that you can simply… cast such a spell? One of the most powerful, ancient curses ever known? A spell, lost to time itself?”

“I have a copy,” Tim says, and Ra’s freezes.

“_How_?” His voice is dangerous and low, and Tim wants to flinch away, wants to lie, but lying to an emissary of the Demon’s Head is a horrible idea, so he swallows instead and screws up his courage.

“Talia Head. Her computer was destroyed, but I recovered her hard drive.” Technically, Harper had. But Tim is hardly about to mention another person to a demon.

“The copy Talia Head had was in Ancient Egyptian, Magician.” The demon’s face is inscrutable. “Do you speak that?”

“I’ve got a translation.” More exactly, Barbara was working on a program that will give him a translation.

“So clever,” Ra’s says, his eyes boring into Tim’s. “But there is more to a spell than a component and some words, boy. Do you think you have the power it takes?”

“I’m not here for power,” Tim says, clenching his hands into fists.

“Do you think you can cast this spell on your own?” Ra’s demands harshly, moving closer to Tim. He grips Tim’s wrist in his hand, wrenching Tim close to him, the nails digging in tightly. “You have potential, Magician, but books will only teach you so much.”

“I’ll manage,” Tim hisses, clenching his teeth in pain. “I just want the orb.”

The grip evaporates like mist, leaving behind only a series of semi-circles on Tim’s skin, marking where the nails had been.

“Hmmm…” Ra’s smiles. “I will make you a deal, Magician.” He reaches into his robe and pulls out an Orb of Thessulah, glowing with a faint white glimmer. “Have the Orb. Free of charge.”

“You don’t do free, Ra’s. Or at least the Demon’s Head doesn’t.”

“Ah, but think of it as… an investment.”

“In me?”

“If you truly are powerful enough to cast this spell on your own… it seems to be to my advantage to ingratiate myself to you. And if you’re not…” Ra’s smiles. “Well, we shall work something out when you return.”

“I won’t be coming back,” Tim says, as firmly as he can.

“Ah, that’s what the Detective said,” Ra’s smiles.

Tim reaches out and carefully takes the orb. It’s surprisingly heavy. For all it looks like glass, it is so clearly some sort of crystal, the strange light glowing beneath it

“Timothy Drake,” Ra’s says, and this time, there’s no pain, but Tim doesn’t like it any more than he did the first time. He feels like he’s being picked apart, bit by bit, and placed under a microscope. Those eyes are so unsettling. “I believe… you will turn out to be very interesting indeed.”

* * *

“I have an announcement to make,” Babs reports for their after-school meeting. 

“Yeah, I finally mastered the E-Flat Chord progression!” Kon says, holding up his hand for a high five. 

Tim stares at Kon, wondering how, in fact, he’s dating him.

“… no. That’s nothing,” Babs says, looking at them all with mild disbelief. “I was referring to the fact that I’ve made progress on figuring out the spell that the Joker has been using in order to shorten the period between the bite and the transformation into a vampire so that we can hopefully stop him from doing it in the future.”

“… I liked mine better.”

“Me too, Kon,” says Duke, putting his head down on the table. “Me too.”

* * *

Tim comes back from school, and his dad is sitting in the living room.

“Tim,” Jack Drake says.

He doesn’t look good—he hasn’t looked good since that awful night. He hasn’t been sleeping, there are bags under his eyes, and Tim thinks there might even be grey in his hair where there wasn’t any before.

“Hi Dad,” Tim says. He’s not quite sure how to handle this new way of things. Before, it was… easy, to dodge Jack’s attention. Jack and Janet Drake were busy, most of the time, and Tim was self-sufficient, and good at not causing any trouble, so they didn’t have to worry about him.

Or at least, good at not causing trouble that they’d ever _notice_, considering how long he’d been dabbling in magic and dealing with murderous monsters.

And they hadn’t noticed, not until the Joker had secured an invitation into their home, and brought the trouble crashing down upon all of their heads.

Ever since then, things have been… different. Dad’s starting to notice things. Things he’s never noticed before. He’s started to notice when Harper comes over, and when Steph comes over, and even though he’s not saying anything, Tim knows that Dad sometimes listens outside of the door, making sure they’re not getting up to anything… inappropriate.

And this is why Tim and Kon have been going over to _Kon’s _place to be dumb teenagers dating, because Kon’s dad is far too busy polluting the ocean and ruining democracy and selling weapons to dictators to notice his son has a boyfriend.

It had taken a Herculean (or Slayer-ean) effort to convince Jack _not _to pull up stakes and move them far away from Gotham. He’d been talking about moving to _Missouri_, because he still has some business interests in Central City.

But in the end, Bruce and Barbara and Dick had done the job, and convinced him that things were going to be fine, in the end.

Tim wasn’t really sure he even believed them, but he still could nearly collapse with relief when Dad had finally made the decision to stay. It was at least partially because Dad didn’t want to leave the little burial plot where Mom was buried—or at least, Mom was _supposedly _buried, because Tim wasn’t convinced that she hadn’t risen as a vampire, only for Steph to stake her, quietly and without telling anyone.

But Tim is going to take it, anyways.

Gotham is his home. His friends are here. Everything that _matters _is here, in this city, and Tim does not want to leave, even if it might be dangerous.

“What is it, Dad?” Tim asks, slinging his backpack down onto the couch. There have been many changes to his life, since Mom died. One of the weirdest is probably his father’s sudden insistence in having “Father-Son bonding” time, which mostly seems to involve watching football games and awkward conversations where Dad tries to figure out if Tim is dating Steph or Harper.

“So, I know that I’ve agreed that we’re staying in Gotham,” Jack says.

Tim freezes. “Yeah?”

“But Tim. I think you really need to re-consider how you spend your time.”

“What?”

“Hunting monsters. Fighting vampires. Those… Slayer, girls.”

“They have names, and they’re my _friends_.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jack says. “I have nothing against that Cassandra girl. She seems very nice, and she saved my life and all. But that _other _one… Stephanie…”

“Dad, she’s my friend,” Tim says.

“But how well do you know her?” Jack demands. “She’s only been around for a year, and you’re already willing to throw everything away for her. You have a _future_, Tim. But ever since she showed up, your grades have been slipping. You’ve been growing distant, and you’ve been coming home with injuries—”

“I was fighting _monsters_, and that’s not Steph’s fault! I know exactly what I’m getting into.”

“Do you know she’s the top suspect in several fires, out in California?” Jack demands, sharply. “Do you know she’s a person of interest in her own _father’s _murder?”

“Dad, how do _you_ know this?”

“I have a friend out in Los Angeles, and he looked into her for me.”

Tim freezes. “Dad. You hired an _investigator_?”

Jack doesn’t deny it. “She’s trouble, Tim. She’s been getting into fights for _years_, far longer than your magic and demons can explain. She makes poor choices, and she’s never going to add up to anything.”

“You don’t get to judge her, Dad! You don’t know what she’s been through,” Tim defends.

“I do. Better than you, I’m sure,” Jack says. “She’s irresponsible and dangerous, Tim, and I don’t want her dragging you down with her.”

“Don’t talk about her that way!” Tim gets to his feet and tries to storm out, but Jack grabs him.

“You don’t know her, Tim. She’s hiding things from you.”

“You don’t know that!” Tim snaps, trying to tug away, but his father’s grip is firm enough to bruise.

“She had a _baby_, Tim,” Jack’s expression says exactly what he thinks about that. “_That’s _the kind of girl you want to associate with? And that’s not even getting into her mother—”

“_Stop_!” Tim yells, finally breaking out of Jack’s grip. “Dad. Just. Stop. This is none of your business, and it’s not any of mine, and Steph is the _best person I’ve ever known_. She’s brave and amazing and she’s selfless and she’d die a thousand times over to save _anyone_—” Tim swallows, and then tries to say what Steph would say. “She’d even save someone who thinks that she’s worthless just because she made decisions that you don’t agree with!” He stomps away.

“We’re not done here!” Jack calls after him. “Timothy Jackson—”

Tim slams his bedroom door behind him, loud enough that the frame shudders.

“Tim!” His dad yells from the other side of the door, and without blinking, Tim throws out his hand, wrapping the door handle in a small electric shock, to stop his dad from turning the handle. “Tim! You come out here _right now_!”

Tim has two hours left of sunlight. He left his backpack downstairs, but it doesn’t matter. He grabs a change of clothes and stuffs them in a duffle bag Dad had bought him for his last birthday for his football uniform, ignoring that Tim isn’t on the football team.

He climbs out the window, and makes a beeline for Kon’s house, ignoring his dad’s threats and pleas behind him.

* * *

Harley is getting stronger. Her thoughts are getting clearer. There are entire centimeters of brunette roots starting to show, and she’s going to have to dye it again soon, otherwise her boys might get suspicious. As it is, she’s been inducing symptoms in order to stop them from wondering why she’s still off her feet and not providing them with blood.

Vomiting and a fever are easy enough to induce with what she has on hand, and even though it makes her miserable, the fever seems to bring with it a clarity she hasn’t felt since she met Amanda Waller. Which… she’s not entirely certain how long it _has _been.

There are gaps, horrifying, humongous gaps in her memory, where everything has been completely subdued in fog, and all of the gaps are since she met Mister J. She’s not even sure if she knows her mother’s face, and she definitely doesn’t remember the name of where she went to undergrad, or what she studied.

All she remembers is her roommate; a woman with flame-red hair and grass-green eyes and a laugh like sunshine, whose kisses tasted of roses. Ivy, she had called her, but she’s not sure if that’s her _real _name, or if it had been what she called her, for the ivy tattoos climbing up her arms.

She tries to focus on that memory, that beautiful, good memory of a tiny dorm room and lofted beds, but every time the door to her room opens, and food is brought, she’s pulled back to reality. She doesn’t know where Ivy is, or even if she’s alive. She doesn’t know how old she is. She’s underground, somewhere on the East Coast, and she’s killed a lot of people, and brought even more to be killed at the hands of the man who ruined her life.

Mister J is planning something. She can hear him talking about it to Jay Jay—Jason. She can hear him talking about it to Jason. Something about a statue.

Why he cares about a statue, she doesn’t know, but she is nervous, because she’s never heard of any artist called Barbatos.

* * *

The day starts like any other day, until Harper comes home to find a photograph of her brother on her bed.

It’s an innocuous enough shot—a polaroid of all things, just like Tim used to take photos of them with, back when they were in middle school—featuring Cullen on his way back from school, his head bent to look at his phone, wearing the same battered jacket he’s been wearing for three years now, because it had once belonged to their mom, and it made him feel safe.

It’s dark in the photo, and there light is coming from their porch. It could be any night over the past few months. He could have been watching them since the day that he lost his soul.

Because written on the back of the polaroid, in simple handwriting:

_Nice kid. – J_

* * *

“He got into your house?” Steph demands, eyes sharp, face pale.

It’s been strange, seeing Steph unravel these past few months. Her hair has slowly faded from glossy and soft to greasy and stringy, the bags under her eyes are slowly growing darker and larger, and her face has broken out with acne. The rest of them are keeping it together… better. Not great, but better. Bruce’s suit is crumpled, Dick looks like he hasn’t slept ever since the night Duke’s parents died, and Babs probably hasn’t seen the sunlight since then either, but…

Well, the rest of them, they’re still just kids. Jason was a friend, but not a close one. They’d seen him around, but it was Steph who he’d been closest to, Steph who had gone on patrol with him and hung out with him in his crypt willingly.

And it was Steph who blamed herself for what happened, with or without logic.

“Yeah,” Harper says, staring down at the picture.

“When did you invite him in?” Cass asks this without judgement, but Harper still wants to wilt, beneath her clear brown eyes.

“It was a few months back. He needed help with doing some research on the Cult of the Unliving.”

“Those Vampire Wannabee Cult?” Kon asks, squinting.

“Yeah. So, he came over.” Harper shrugs.

“He’s escalating,” Bruce says, softly. “He’s moving out of his comfort zone, beginning to push at us in order to see what we’ll do.”

“Can’t we just,” Duke makes a shoving gesture. “Un-invite him?”

“No way that I know of,” Bruce says. “Babs? Dick?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever had to deal with this before,” Babs admits. “He… he lost his invitation last time.”

Bruce and Dick both look away at that.

“But that doesn’t mean it can’t work,” Babs says, determinedly. “Tim, do you want to help me with the magic aspect?”

“Sure,” Tim says. “And, uh, I was wondering if you could help me with that… extra credit program we were talking about last week.”

Barbara’s eyes widen just a little, as she picks up on what he’s saying, while everyone else ignores it, not knowing what kind of project they’re talking about. They’re probably assuming it’s computer science, since Barbara has taken up Talia’s classes in her absence.

Tim carefully nudges his bag with his foot, reassuring himself that the heavy weight of the Orb is still there.

“We need to make a list of wherever the Red Hood has access to,” Bruce says.

“Jason,” Steph says quietly.

“What?” Bruce looks at her.

“Where _Jason _has access to.” She swallows. “We can’t just… we can’t _pretend _it’s not him.”

“It’s not,” Dick says, fervently. “Steph, he’s _not _Jason.”

“He’s got Jason’s memories! He’s got Jason’s face! He’s even got _Jason’s invitations into our houses_!” Steph kicks the table, furious, and everything shakes, including her. “We can’t just—it’s him! We can’t just—we can’t just pretend that—”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says, his voice dark and dangerous. “Enough.”

Steph’s eyes are over bright with unshed tears, but she refuses to look away from Bruce’s steely gaze.

“You’re tired. We all are. But don’t let it overcome your reasoning.”

“Bruce,” Duke says, trying to interfere, but Steph already has pivoted and stormed off.

“I’ll go after her,” Tim offers, grabbing his bag and following.

* * *

“Ra’s.”

“Hood.”

“What are you doing in town?”

The teeth in the demon’s smile is too-bright, too-knowing. “I was summoned.”

“Who?”

“You know how these games work, Hood. I was given no name.”

The Red Hood bares his own teeth, pointed and dangerous in the moonlight, a threat that Ra’s will never take seriously.

“I offer a trade,” Ra’s says, his voice almost soothing in its calmness, in its assurance that all will turn out as he plans.

“What trade?” The Red Hood gives up on a fruitless intimidation of a demon who is very assured of his place in the world and digs out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket.

“I need a human dead, for a sacrifice. In exchange… I’ll give you the name of the only person in the world who can translate the spell needed to bring back your soul.”

There’s a long pause, as he rolls a cigarette between his fingers, as he contemplates the offer.

“What about Talia?”

“She uses ancient Egyptian in her spell casting, and she will not be casting it again, not now that I have cut her off from the source of her true power. For any other to cast it, a translation must be in hand. It is not translated yet. But it will be soon.”

“How do you know about this?”

Ra’s smiles and says nothing.

The Red Hood growls and lights his cigarette. There’s a moment of silence, as he lifts it to his mouth and takes a deep drag with the breath that he doesn’t need to use. Finally, he exhales, and lowers his hand, cigarette dangling carelessly from his fingers.

“Give me the name,” he finally says.

“Jack Drake.” There are teeth, in that smile, and they are definitely not human teeth.

The Hood laughs. “Oh, that will be my _pleasure_.”

* * *

Tim and Jack still aren’t on the best of terms, but at least he’s back to sleeping in his own room, rather than just crashing at Kon’s. His boyfriend is great and all, but he is a blanket hog, and not to mention, Kon still only has a single, so there’s not exactly a lot of _room_.

Kon is asking for a double for his birthday, which probably means he’ll get a queen or even a king, because apparently that’s how Lex Luthor shows his affection, but Kon’s birthday isn’t for a while, yet.

So it’s back to going to school and coming home again, but only between fighting monsters. Babs is slowly but surely making progress on the translation program.

The two of them are the only ones who know what they’re doing, although Tim hasn’t told Babs where or how he’s gotten his hands on the Orb. He strongly implied he used his dad’s connections, and she doesn’t seem to have considered that Tim could have had the power to summon a demon for assistance.

(Or, perhaps, she’s holding out hope that he has more common sense than that, but she should probably know better.)

Of course, Jason’s soul isn’t the only thing they’re working on. Life goes on, even with a supernatural stalker hanging around their city, breaking into their rooms, and leaving Steph twisted presents. They have to research the expulsion spell, as well as try to find fixes to whatever new situation has presented itself to them this week.

The problem is that Ra’s is at least partially right. Despite the progress of Babs’s translation program, Tim doesn’t _have _the raw power that he needs to do this spell. All the books he’s found tell horrible stories about what happens to witches who attempt magic beyond their own abilities. The backlash could kill him—or worse, turn him _into _something just as dangerous as the Red Hood.

There’s a reason magic users of all stripes throughout history have done horrible things in search of power—deals with demons like Ra’s al Ghul are nothing, compared to the depraved and downright _cruel _things that the books Tim reads suggest doing in order to power the spell. The slaughter of the innocent, the desecration of the sacred, the betrayal of love. Magic, as it dwells in humans, is wonderful. The magic that lies just beyond human grasp is terrifying in scope and size.

It can reshape the world, but to do so, it demands unthinkable prices from anyone who would dare to wield it.

There’s one possibility, but Tim doesn’t want to say it out loud, even if he knows that he and Barbara are both thinking it.

One of the most powerful methods that Tim has found; one of the most common, the most simple…

To drink the blood of the Slayer.

Tim _really _doesn’t want it to come to that. For starters, gross.

Second of all, it’s _dark magic_, anything involving blood. Blood is life, and life is magic. To take it from someone else, and to bring it into yourself… it can taint the soul, and eat you from the inside out.

Tim wants to stop Jason.

But he doesn’t want to become someone else entirely to stop him.

He hasn’t brought it up to any of the others. The orb remains safely in his bag.

* * *

Jack Drake really doesn’t like any of this. Not the magic, not the vampires, not his son’s new friends.

Duke Thomas, well he’s a fine young man, sure, but Jack always had a bad feeling about him, and now knowing that he’s tangled up in Stephanie Brown and her strange, violent world, he finally knows what that was. Oh sure, he was smart enough, but every time his car rolls up into the driveway to pick Tim up for their latest “vampire hunt” Jack wants to shout and throw things.

Harper Row has always been dragging Tim into trouble, and has been since the two of them were children, so honestly, it’s not at all a surprise that _she’s _involved in all of this. Honestly, he’s still not sure what Tim sees in her. When she was younger, at least she was moderately well behaved, but now that she’s in high school it’s all blue hair and piercings, and it’s not that Jack has a _problem _with any of that, but he can’t imagine she’s going to get a job walking around looking like that. Not to mention, it wasn’t that Jack had any problems with it or anything, but he was _pretty sure _she was… experimenting. And the last thing Tim needed right now was to start… questioning.

Stephanie Brown herself radiates trouble. A teenaged mother with a history of promiscuity, violence, arson, and petty assault charges, a mother of her own with a history of opioid abuse… truly, the worst kind of person to be given superpowers and sent on a quest to fight the “forces of darkness” or whatever else it is. Death follows her wherever she goes, and Jack _knows _she’s got her claws in Tim, that she’s seducing him into this strange and dangerous world of hers, and that she’s never going to let him go. And Tim won’t _listen _to him, won’t admit that she’s trouble, that his mother would still be alive if she’d been sensible and stayed away from a bright boy like Tim, who had a _future_ ahead of him, unlike her.

Cassandra Cain seems decent enough. A nice girl. Quiet. She’d saved his life, after all, and she seemed to actually listen to Wayne, as much as Jack despised the man. Unlike Stephanie, who dismissed any and all authority out of hand, Cassandra seemed plenty obedient, and look at that; she had actually managed to save Jack, while Stephanie had utterly failed to save either of the Thomases. A pity she was tangled with all of this supernatural nonsense, but at least she hadn’t dragged Tim into it with her; she had arrived after Stephanie already had lured him in.

At least Tim still had one normal friend; Conner Luthor-Kent was a good young man. Jack knew his family; Lex was a friend from the club, and the two of them played golf together on alternating Thursdays. Conner was a nice, ordinary boy who played football and was in a band and had nothing to do with the strangeness that was the supernatural.

Jack was encouraging Tim to spend more time with Conner. It only made sense, after all.

The attack has not passed easily, or calmly. Jack is still in physical therapy—there’s this nice doctor, Dana something or other, and she’s been helping him.

He’s walking back from the car, when he spots him again.

“Mister Drake!” The man says.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”

“I’m Jason,” he says, smiling. He’s wearing a red hoodie under a leather coat, his jeans have holes in them, and his hair has a strange white streak dyed into it—some sort of “statement” piece or something, of that Jack has no doubt. “I just wanted to check in on you—I’m sorry I didn’t come by to check earlier, but things have been really busy.”

“Midterms, right?” Jack says, leaning on his cane. “Or… basketball? Do you play?”

“Used to,” Jason’s smile is kind of odd. “I’ve graduated.”

“Oh! So you’re one of Wayne’s assistants, then? One of those Watcher types?”

“Exactly,” Jason says. “I’m here to… keep an eye on Stephanie. She’s really not… a traditional Slayer.”

“Well, she could do a lot more good if she was more like that Cassandra girl,” Jack grumbles. He glances at the younger man, and sighs. He _had _helped save his life, even if he does dress as if he pulled his entire outfit out of the dumpster. “Why don’t you come inside, then? No use staying out here in the cold.”

“Much obliged,” Jason says. “Cassie’s a good kid. Very traditional.”

“Wayne better keep a better eye on her than he did on Brown,” Jack grumbles. “Don’t know what he was thinking, letting her go off and get pregnant like that—”

Jason stumbles for a moment, and Jack turns, leaning on his cane, concerned, when Tim throws open the door.

“_Dad_!”

As he watches, Jason’s face _changes_, and Jack freezes up entirely as the _vampire_ lunges for his throat.

Strong hands grip around his arm and at the last moment Jack is _yanked _back into the house and sprawling onto the atrium carpet, and Stephanie Brown is in front of him, her arms thrown out protectively as Jason barrels forward towards the open door, before he’s thrown back, as if hitting some wall that can’t be there, because Jack had just passed through it.

Tim hovers over him, a Star of David clutched in his hand, a leather bound book dropped onto the floor.

“Sorry Jason,” Stephanie Brown says. “Changed the locks.”

She slams the door shut in his face.

* * *

“Is he dead?”

“I’ll do you one better.” Jason’s grin is a dangerous slice of white through the dark.

“I sincerely doubt it.” Ra’s al Ghul is too controlled to allow his anger to show on his face, but the air itself seems to shrink, the tension between the two of them becoming stretched like a rubber band, about to be released.

“I was Bruce Wayne’s son, remember? I know all about your little… projects.”

“I fail to see—”

“Stephanie Brown had a child. She put it up for adoption, back in Los Angeles.” There’s a flicker of a lighter, and the glow of a lit cigarette. “Before she was Called, sure, but the lineage is right.” Smoke glides through the air. “A daughter.”

Ra’s al Ghul stands absolutely still in the faint moonlight. For a moment, the outline in the dimness is… less than human. Jason does not so much as blink, just smiles, knowing with a reassured air that he has won this round, even if Jack Drake is still breathing.

“Barbara Gordon is writing a translation program for the Ritual of Restoration.”

The cigarette is thrown to the ground and stomped upon by a heavy boot.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Ra’s.”

* * *

“I need to kill a Watcher,” Jay Jay announces, and Harley adjusts her sunglasses quickly, to make sure they’re properly on. It’s a long shot, sure, but she made sure she got ‘em nice and pink and heart shaped, and Mister Jay didn’t seem to mind.

“Ooh, which one, kiddo? I’ve been saving this one ritual for old Batsy—ripping his heart out in the glow of the eclipse, summoning an ancient, unstoppable army from the bowels of hell!”

“Nah,” Jason strides in, smelling like cigarette smoke and cemeteries, and his cheeks are sallow and sunken, which means he didn’t feed tonight. Harley swallows, and stares at her arms, where she can see a mess of overlapping scars shaped like bitemarks. There are way, way too many. More than she thinks _should _be there, even though she knows she’s lost time, lost a _lot _of time. She’s put it off as long as she can, but sooner, not later, one of them is going to get hungry, and this desperate sliver of clarity that she’s been fighting to keep is going to vanish.

She needs to go. But she doesn’t know _where_.

“It’s the redhead. Barbara. You know, the one you threw off the rooftop?”

“Hmm,” Mister Jay rolls his neck, frowning. “Ooh, was she the one whose blood tasted of cinnamon?”

“Don’t know, never tried her.”

“Oh wait! I _do _remember her! Her daddy was that big time Hunter, right? Trench coat, bit mustache, worked with Batsy back in the day?”

“Jim Gordon, yeah. I’m surprised you never killed him.”

“Jason! Kiddo!” He frowns, looking honestly disappointed. “It’s not about the killing. It’s about the _pizazz._ It’s no fun to just kill them. You need to make sure they know it’s coming. You need to make them _suffer_. I’ve taught you this! Leaving presents. Following them home! Making sure they _know _you’re coming!”

“I know, I know,” Jay Jay—Jason. Jason, his name is _Jason_—says dramatically. “But I don’t have _time _to set up a good one for her. I’ve been saving all of the stuff for Blondie. She’s just on this side of a nervous breakdown, and I’ve got an appointment with her mom next week, so I’m going to paint the _walls_—”

“Well,” Harley giggles, because—the _Joker_, not Mister Jay, he _asked _her to call him that, way back before everything became blood and fire—he’s looking at her, because she’s been too quiet. “Well, I mean… this Gordon lady is one of the Slayer’s Watchers, right? Can’t you just leave her body in the library or something? Make it look like a message?”

Jason pauses to think about it, and Harley struggles to keep her heart rate down.

“Or we could use her in a different ritual,” the Joker suggests. “I’ve got this lovely cursed statue tucked away somewhere?”

“Which ones?” Harley asks, propping her head up on her fist and tilting it to one side. “Cuz you’ve got that Acathla one that’s supposed to end the world…”

“No way! _Far _too 90s! No, I’m thinking of Barbatos!”

“… the statue you stole off Wayne, all those years ago? You still have it?”

“Of course!” The Joker gets to his feet and strides across the room, throwing the dust sheet off the statue in question.

The statue is ten feet tall, with gigantic, bat like wings, and a mouth hanging wide open, with a sword piercing through the roof, through the gigantic stone tongue. A hood was pulled over the head, but there were clearly bat ears and horns beneath it, its arms stretched wide, as if in mid-leap.

“They say Barbatos is older than this dimension,” Jason says, almost hypnotized. “They say he eats decay itself.” He reaches out and brushes the back of his hand against the statue’s face. “One of the most ancient evils in all of time… and you just… had it.”

“Well, I _would _have used it ages ago, but it’s got this ancient curse on it to open up the Gates of Hell! All it needs… is a magic ritual, that only the Watchers know.”

“That sounds great, Mister Jay!” Harley says, the words like ash on her tongue. “Uh, but won’t that make it hard for you to do the whole painting the walls thing, Jay Jay?”

Jason pauses. “Well… you know, I’m pretty sure letting the world end on her watch is a pretty good way to take care of a Slayer.”

“Oh, cheer up, kiddo! We can kill as many of her friends as possible while we go get that Watcher Girl!” The Joker claps Jason on the shoulder. “Now. How do we get the Slayers out of the way long enough for us to get ourselves a redhead?”

* * *

Finals are evil.

“You have no idea how lucky you are that you don’t have classes,” Steph tells Cass earnestly.

“Then why go? If you hate it.”

“Uh, because… that’s what normal people do, I guess.”

“And being normal is a good thing?” Cass seems skeptical.

“It’s… I mean, it’s… it’s nice, you know? To just be a normal girl for a while.”

“But you’re not normal. You’re the Slayer. Like me.”

“But you’re different,” Steph says. “You’re _amazing_. I mean, if it weren’t for Harper and everyone I’d be dead already. I can’t do half the things you do.”

“True,” Cass looks pleased by that, so… win?

“I’m not a very good Slayer,” Steph admits. “We’re supposed to be these badass loners, able to do all of these… these _amazing _things, right? But I can’t. The most impressive thing I did was not drown, and then pushed a centurgenarian off a rooftop.”

“You’re good,” Cass objects. “Each of us is different.”

“Cass,” Steph snorts. “We both know you’re a much better Slayer than I am. Everyone knows it.”

Cass looks guilty. “You’re still good.”

“You’ve been _trained_,” Steph says. “I bet you were disassembling crossbows and putting them back together blindfolded by the time you were ten. Meanwhile, I was probably losing the spelling bee in the first round.”

“… I was six when we did the crossbow exercise.”

“_Seriously_?” 

Cass grins, and pops open her bag of potato chips, stuffing them into her mouth. “You’re going to be late to class.”

“Ugh, and it’s a final.” Steph balls up her own chip wrapper and slam dunks it in the trash can. “Say hi to the Watchers for me, okay?”

Cass nods, and then heads out in the direction of the library.

“Are you encouraging trespassing on school property, Miss Brown?” Principle Cobblepot demands. “_She _is not a student.”

“She’s Mister Wayne’s niece,” Steph says. “I think she’s starting next semester.”

He stares at her, eyes narrowed.

“Don’t think I haven’t been keeping an eye on you, Miss Brown. You’re starting fights, students are disappearing, our swim team went from best in the county to rock bottom when you started hanging around with them. Property damage, and don’t think I haven’t noticed your… habits.”

“Habits?” Steph says her spine ramrod straight.

“You eat too much. You have an erratic temper, mood swings. You’re prone to fits of violence.” Steph ground her teeth.

“Are we done here, Mister Cobblepot? I have my Trig final in five minutes.”

He glares at her.

“Watch yourself, Miss Brown. I just need an excuse.”

“I’m sure.” She swings her backpack over her shoulder and walks towards math class, feeling his gaze on her back.

Math isn’t her _worst _subject—that’s chemistry, natch. It’s not her best—that’s Spanish. But she definitely hasn’t done enough studying, what with the extra patrols to try to figure out what houses Jason had invites to and doing all of the appropriate spells to keep him out.

She settles into her normal seat next to Harper and tries to stare her graphing calculator into submission while she waits for Mister Bullock to pass out their exams.

Steph is three questions in and stumped about trying to remember the difference between the formula for sin and the formula for co-sin when the door opens, and a woman walks in wearing a red hooded cape.

“Graveyard… tonight…” The cape’s hood lowers, revealing a girl who has to be a few years younger than Steph, with a wide, fanatical smile on her face. “You will come to him.” Sunlight, streaming through the window, lands on the girl’s face, and it begins to steam.

A vampire.

“You will come to him or more will die!” The fledgling—a thrall, maybe?—declares, just as earnestly as she had begun, even as flames lick across her skin. The class is on their feet, everyone shouting and screaming and running. Someone’s calling the police, the ambulance, but it doesn’t matter.

The vampire crumples to ash in front of all of them, and at by the time the flames are gone, it’s been written off as a weird prank meant to go viral on TikTok or something, and Steph still has to take her final.

* * *

“Trap,” Dick says flatly. “That is _such _a trap.”

“Well duh,” Steph says. “But if there’s a trap, there’s gotta be bait, right? So I might as well go and get some vampire cheese.”

“You realize, in this metaphor, you then get killed by the trap, right?” Babs says, her head bent over her computer.

“Okay, fine, so it needs some work. But I still need to go! He’ll kill people if I don’t.” Steph takes a deep breath. “And I’m ready. This time I can do it. I can stop him. This time, I’m going to kill him. So I’m going there. End of story.”

“Me too,” Cass says immediately, making a beeline for the weapons trunk.

“No,” Babs says firmly, stopping Cass in her tracks. “This might _also _be an attempt to lure the Slayers somewhere to weaken our defenses, here. Dick will go with you, make sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

Steph’s shoulders hunched as she tried to curl in on herself. “Like let him live?”

“No,” Babs says firmly, catching Steph’s hand. “Steph. He was your friend. It’s been hard on all of us. But he knows how to get into your head. And you can’t let him.”

Steph takes a deep breath, and nods.

“Tim and I are working on something else, okay? Something that might help. I’ll explain when you get back. But right now, you need to go.”

“Here,” Cass shoves a stake towards Steph. “Take this. It’s my lucky stake.”

“Your… lucky stake?”

“I call him Mister Pointy.”

“… remind me to buy you a teddy bear after this.”

“Why?”

Babs and Steph exchange a look.

“You explain,” Steph says to Babs, before turning to Dick. “Shall we head out, oh mighty Watcher?”

He makes a face at her. “I’ll drive.”

“Rude.” She follows him to his car, though, since she still doesn’t have her license.

* * *

“Okay,” Babs says. “I think we’re done with the translation.”

“What, really?” Tim is immediately crowded against her side, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“Really. Look at the panel on the right.”

“What was lost, return, not dead, not of the living…” Tim trails off, staring at Babs.

“We did it,” she whispers. “We can do the ritual.”

Tim pulls the Orb out of his bag, cradling it in his hands. “We’re ready,” he says. “Do we need anything else?”

“I speak Latin, and you’ve got a bowl, so…”

“… that bowl had Choco cookies in it until a minute ago.”

“Well, wash it!” Babs flaps her hands. “If Steph is walking into a trap, we might be able to get Jason his soul back before she gets in there and eats vampire cheese!”

The two of them pause, as they realize what she said.

“… Steph’s contagious,” Tim says, with dawning horror.

“Pinky swear to never tell her I said that?”

“Deal.”

Cass sits, cross legged on the table, watching them.

“Why only Jason? Can’t we… give all vampires souls?”

“The ritual is very complex, Cass,” Babs says. “And honestly, I’m not even sure if we can pull it off. It’s going to take a lot of power, and…”

“I’m fine,” Tim says. “I’ve been doing a lot of studying.”

“Studying doesn’t always equal the kind of raw power that you need for something like this,” Babs says gently.

“It has to,” Tim says. “We don’t have a _choice_! Jason is dangerous, and—”

“Steph can beat him,” Babs says, but she doesn’t look quite as sure as she’d like to be. “Where’s Harper and Duke?”

“Still in class. Where’s Bruce?”

“Here,” Bruce opens the door. “I was convincing the police captain that the immolating vampire in Steph’s math class was a theater department special effect stunt. I assume Steph ran off to confront the Red Hood on her own?”

“I told her to bring Dick,” Babs says.

Bruce came up short, staring at the Orb in Tim’s hands. “Tim. Where did you get that?”

“Probably stole the one you were using as a paperweight in the office,” Babs says, flipping through her notes. “Bruce. I’m almost certain we’ve translated the ritual.” She looks up at him, her expression determined. “I think we can bring him back.”

“Barbara. None of us have the kind of magical power—”

“I can do it,” Tim insists. “I know I can.”

“Tim. This is a huge risk, and I cannot ask you to take it.”

“I get to decide that! And I’m going to do it!”

“Tim, the magical forces—”

“I know what I’m doing!”

Bruce stops short.

“I don’t think you do,” he says. He closes his eyes. “But I know I can’t stop you. So. Compromise. Let me anchor you through the spell. That way, I can try to absorb some of the backlash.”

“… you can do that?”

“Watchers are relatively good at absorbing magic,” Bruce says. “Some, more so than others. I was always fairly decent at it.”

“And Alfred is so proud,” Babs says.

Duke and Harper burst into the library. “Okay, we’re here! Tim’s text said something about a magical ritual calling upon the souls of the damned in order to bring about the end of the world?”

“That is _not what I said_!”

* * *

“Blondie! I was scared you were going to get cold feet! Or fall in the ocean and drown again.”

Steph grits her teeth, but Dick’s hand on her arm keeps her back.

“Jason. What do you want?”

“Ah, c’mon big brother!” Jason stretches out his arms. “Is it too hard to believe that I missed you guys? My best friend, my brother, my dad… my almost-sister-in-law… some… other teenagers…” He lowers his arms. “I just wanted to say that I’m very sorry about everything, and I want to be a family again.”

“Pull the other one,” Steph snaps.

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” Jason says, his smile mocking. “And I just wanted to bring it full circle, you know?”

“What, you’re going to dig yourself a grave, instead of digging yourself out of one this time? You’re already pretty deep, but I think you can manage the rest of the way.”

He chuckles. “You’re funny, Blondie, I’ll give you that. But no. I just wanted to tell you that you better RSVP… because it’s the end of the world, baby.”

Steph and Dick look at each other.

“What, again?”

“No, not a—it’s actually going to end this time! I’ve got an evil statue and everything.”

“Wait, wasn’t that the Killer Croc?”

“He wasn’t a statue, we had to—you know what, I’m just going to kill you now.”

“You can try,” Steph says.

* * *

Cass watches the others go through the steps of the ritual, unsure of what she’s supposed to do.

She closes her eyes, and reaches inwards again.

The darkness rolls through her body, eager to be tapped into, to be used again, and she pulls it up towards her eyes.

Steph can do some of this already, can identify a vampire, can see things better than most people. But she can’t do it like Cass can, can’t tap into the darkness like her father had taught her. She can’t touch the heart of being a Slayer; that ancient, primordial strength that had belonged to all of those who had come before them.

She opens her eyes, and stares at Tim.

There’s a glowing spot, around his wrist. As if someone had grabbed him tightly. The same glow covers the Orb that is now seated in the center of the table, balancing on a textbook.

It’s not good.

She grabs Tim by the arm and roughly shoves him out into the hallway.

“Who?” She demands.

“What?”

She grabs his wrist, the one glowing so awfully in her eyes, and brings it up to his eyelevel. “A demon,” she hisses. “Who?”

“What? No one.”

“The Orb,” she hisses, leaning in close. “You are lying to me.”

Her father always told her that magic users couldn’t be trusted. She hadn’t taken him seriously, because… of everything else.

But she does know this—making a deal with a demon for any sort of power never ends well. And Tim might have already done it. What kind, she’s not sure—it’s not a vampire, but it could be anything from a Vengeance Demon to a Pockla demon.

“I’m—Cass, it’s—it’s fine!”

“It _touched you_.” Does he not realize what that could mean? Does he not—

“Now, now,” a soft voice says, and Cass spins. “It’s not nice to call someone an it.”

“Run!” Cass yells to Tim as she recognizes the strange coloration, the awful twisted face.

She grabs the darkness inside of her and yanks it into herself, and then she lunges at the Joker.

* * *

Tim stumbles into the library, pushed by Cass, and he realizes that the library is already under attack.

“Tim!” Harper yells. She’s gotten his hands on Steph’s favorite sword, and is swinging it recklessly, while Duke is nowhere to be seen. Bruce is unconscious on the ground. Babs has what appears to be a mace in her hands, and is swinging it with far more precision than he would expect from a librarian. “Tim, take the Orb and run!”

“I—”

“_Do as he says_!” Babs yells. “I just heard from Dick, they’re trying to end the world, we need to stop it, and you’re our best hope!”

“Is that so?”

The Joker’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and Tim turns slowly. The man looks none the worse for wear, smiling as his hand is wrapped around Cass’s neck. Cass is standing very, strangely still, her eyes unfocused.

Hypnotism, or thrall, and Tim isn’t sure which is worse.

“You know, I really hate people who show up to parties uninvited,” the Joker says.

“Let her go,” Tim says. He’s unarmed. Behind him, he hears Harper’s forehead hit the railing of the ramp up to the stacks, and the awful sound of a body hitting the floor.

“Hmm. No.”

The Joker’s nails aren’t anything that Tim had considered before. They’re not as long as Ra’s al Ghul’s, but they’re… worse, somehow. Discolored and shorter, stubby but sharp.

Sharp enough that when he releases Cass’s neck from his grip, when the nails slash through the air in an arc, across the skin of Cass’s throat, blood flows freely and quickly.

“_Cass_!”

The Joker’s arm catches him as he runs forward, and he’s sent crashing into the table, almost directly on top of the Orb.

The last thing he sees, before everything goes dark, is Cass’s body, still and silent, crumpled on the ground.

* * *

Dick’s phone goes off while Steph and Jason fight.

Watching the two of them fight is dizzying. There is such speed, such strength. The two of them are deadly and well-matched, and it’s sickening to think of how close both of them are dancing to the edge of death with every blow.

He doesn’t want Jason dead. Not really. He knows it’s not his brother, not really, but it’s…

It’s hard, looking at that face, and not seeing him.

Dick looks at the phone, and sees that it’s Duke’s number.

“Duke, what is it?”

“Surprise!” The Joker’s voice says, on the other end.

Dick flinches. And he looks up, into Jason’s triumphant smile.

“Steph! It was a trick! We need to go!”

“See you… well, never!” Jason calls jauntily as the two of them run for the car. “It was great knowing you!”

* * *

There’s a police officer outside of the school.

“Go,” Dick says. “I’ll talk to him.”

Steph nods and darts around the officer before she can be stopped, running as fast as she can down the hallway.

Everything seems to slow down.

Every beating of her heart seems to take a lifetime, as she runs down the hallway that she’s run down every day for the past two years. It’s all the same. Same linoleum, same lockers, same wooden doors to the library in front of her.

But she knows, somehow, that it’s all different.

She skids into the library, and sees blood.

Cass’s blood.

“Cass!” The name rips itself out of her throat without her realizing it, and she stumbles forward, checking for a pulse.

There’s blood, there’s too much blood, there’s no way—

There’s a pulse. Faint, but it’s there.

“Oh thank God, thank God, thank God,” Steph mutters, ripping off her jacket and pressing it against the wound with one hand while she scrambles for her phone with the other.

“Freeze!”

Steph looks up, shocked, to see Dick, cuffed, standing behind three police officers, all of whom are pointing guns at her.

“She’s hurt, she needs an ambulance,” Steph says.

“Move away from her!”

“She needs to keep pressure on it!” Steph protests.

“We said _move_!”

One of them drags her away, and she lets them. “I didn’t—it was like this when I got here!”

“We’ve got more bodies.”

“Are they okay? What do you mean bodies?” Steph twists, and turns. “_Harper! Tim! Duke!_”

“Get her out of here! Get them both out of here!”

“Steph, stay calm,” Dick whispers to her. “Stay calm, I promise, it will all be okay.”

“_Bruce_!” Steph yells, spotting her Watcher out of the corner of her eye as the officer forces her out into the hallway.

“Shut up,” one of the officers snarls.

“I didn’t do anything! My friend needs an ambulance!”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Steph’s head whips up as she spots Cobblepot.

“Principal—” Dick starts to say.

“Miss Brown here is a violent thug, officers,” Cobblepot says. “Notorious for starting fights. If there’s trouble at this school, she’s involved.”

“You pathetic—” Dick starts to say, enraged.

“Shut up, you,” the officer says, pulling him back. “Stephanie Brown, you have the right to remain—”

Steph punches the officer in the face, sending him backwards into the locker behind him. She spins to free Dick, but he shakes his head at her, eyes wide. “Go,” he mouths at her, and she listens to her Watcher for once in her life.

She turns tail and flees, hearing shouts and gunshots behind her as she goes.

* * *

_“Torture’s more fun.”_

_“Torture doesn’t get results, kiddo. Now shh, she’s waking up.” _

_“What’s your favorite color_?_”_

_“Green.”_

Barbara is somewhere she doesn’t know. <strike>Barbara is tied to a chair in a basement. </strike>

“Mom?” She says.

“Hello sweetheart,” her mother <strike>the Joker</strike> coos, stroking her hair. “Look at you, you’re so _grown_.”

Babs touches the soft hand against her cheek. “I missed you,” she whispers.

“You’re a proper Watcher now, aren’t you? Just like me.”

Barbara turns her face up, and stares into her mother’s green eyes. <strike>Her mother’s eyes were hazel.</strike>

“I tried to make you proud.”

“You’re a scholar, yes? So you know all about those obscure rituals and things?”

“Of course,” Babs says.

Her mother smiles. <strike>The Joker grins.</strike> “Tell me about Barbatos.”

* * *

Tim wakes up in the hospital to Kon holding his hand.

Harper’s got a broken arm. Cass is in a coma after massive blood loss. Bruce has a concussion and a black eye. Duke got out the back and ended up calling for help. Dick is being held for questioning. Steph is on the run, accused of assault and attempted murder. She’s in text contact with Harper, reporting on her end of things.

Babs is missing.

The world is ending.

Tim, who got away with only a few bumps and bruises, convinces Kon to go back to the school to get his magic supplies.

The world is ending. Some ancient demon statue is going to be ritualized, and Bruce thinks that’s why Jason and the Joker kidnapped Babs.

Tim is running out of time.

“Ra’s,” Tim says. His lips are numb.

“Robin.”

Tim swallows. “I need—”

“But of course.”

The demon smiles.

* * *

Steph finds herself in the cemetery, just trying to breathe.

It’s all gone wrong, it’s all gone _horribly _wrong, and she doesn’t know what to do now. She’s already had to dodge police officers five times, and her mom’s been calling so often she had to ditch her phone, because she doesn’t know how to tell her mom that the life she’s been living in denial from since Los Angeles has come back to haunt them in a major way.

She just… sits.

The air is cold and Steph just wants to sit down and cry and cry and never stop.

“You need to stand up, Stephanie.”

Steph looks up, and it’s her again. Leslie.

“Why?” Steph demands.

“You’re the Slayer,” Leslie says. “You have a job to do.”

“What, so I don’t even get a moment?” Steph demands. “I don’t even get to _breathe_?”

“I’m sorry, Stephanie.” Leslie places a long, silver sword on the ground next to her.

“Moments like these, you never see them coming. No matter how prepared you think you are for them. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But life always does.” She places a hand on Stephanie’s shoulder. “But that doesn’t mean it’s the end. The big moments will come. You can’t avoid that. No one can. But it’s what you do afterwards that counts.”

“I get arrested, and the world ends. I think it’s pretty clear what happens next!”

“No. You have to ask yourself some questions. Do you run? Do you turn away? Or… do you fight? Do you get back up? Do you look for the next chance to make things better, to make sure that the next person down the line has it a _little _bit easier?” She smiles, and for a moment, Steph can also believe that things are going to be okay. “That's when you find out who you are.”

“I know who I am,” Steph says.

“Do you? That’s not what you thought last time we met.”

“I’m the Slayer,” Steph says. She picks up the sword. “It’s going to have to be enough.”

* * *

She goes home, because the world is ending, and she owes her mother an explanation, at the very least.

“Oh, you really don’t need to worry, Miss Brown. Those sort of things are perfectly normal for a kid in Stephanie’s stage of development.”

“But the fights…”

“Some people just need punching,” Harley Quinn says, leaning against her mother’s counter, drinking hot chocolate. “From what you said, it sounds like she’s mostly getting involved in things to protect others, or in self defense. Sure, you should try to work with her on non-violent conflict resolution, but there’s nothing wrong—”

“You!” Steph yells, grabbing Quinn by the throat. “Where is she? Where’s Barbara?”

“Whoa, easy!” Quinn says, throwing her hands up in the air. “Truce, okay!”

“Stephanie?” Crystal says. “Steph, baby, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Steph says an autopilot, even though it really is a pretty damn blatant lie at this point of the night.

“What are you doing here?” Steph demands of Quinn.

“He wants to end the world and we need to stop him!” Quinn blurts out.

“… who wants to end the world?” Steph says, staring into Quinn’s eyes.

“The Joker,” Quinn says, the word sounding strange in her mouth, as if she’s trying very hard to pronounce every single letter of the name. Her accent is… different, somehow. “And Jason.” She tries to smile, and Steph realizes that her makeup is smudged. “I’ve been telling them I’m sick so they won’t drink from me and these glasses have been helping some, but then they were talking about ending the world and I can’t just _leave_, I need to—I need to do _something_.”

Steph lets go of Quinn’s throat.

“You saved Duke and Tim.”

Quinn turned away.

Steph swallows.

“Where are they?”

“Mansion outside of town,” Quinn says. “I can take you there.”

Steph hefts the sword in her hand.

“Is she alright? Your other Slayer. Mister—the Joker. He wasn’t sure if he killed her or not. Said she bled weird.”

“She’s alive,” Steph says. “Not sure if we can call that okay.”

“Stephanie, _what is going on_?” Crystal grabs her.

“Mom,” Steph says, far too tired to deal with her mother right now. “I’m just… it’s the vampires again, okay? And I know you don’t believe me, I know it sounds like more of Dad’s weird delusions, but Dad was right. He was an awful person, and I hate that I miss him, but he was _right_. I’m not having a nervous breakdown. And you didn’t either. What we saw, that night, was _real_.” Steph closes her eyes. “Vampires are real. And it’s my job to hunt them. And right now, the world is ending, and I don’t have time.”

“Steph, baby, not this again—”

“I’ve been telling you this for two years now, Mom,” Steph says. “You’ve seen what I can do! You’ve seen me carry things, you’ve seen me come home late at night. You’ve washed blood out of my clothes and seen me carve stakes—what do you think this _is_?” She angrily brushes away tears. “I wish I was wrong! I wish they _weren’t _real! I wish I was—playing video games with Harper or gossiping with Tim on my phone or hell, even studying!”

She takes a deep, steadying breath.

“But I’m not. I’m the Vampire Slayer. And right now, I’m the only person who can save the day. And I need to go do that.”

“Steph. We’re not done here.”

“We are,” Steph says, flatly.

She and Harley Quinn leave the house.

“It’s going to be okay,” Quinn says. “With your mom.”

Steph shrugs, not sure if she believes it.

“Let’s just… let’s just go.”

* * *

Harper is sitting at Cass’s bed side, twiddling her thumbs, when Tim comes back in.

“Tim! Where were you?” Harper leaps to her feet and hugs him tightly.

“Just getting supplies,” Tim says, hugging her back. He smells like incense and… sewage? Where was he _getting _supplies from? “We need to do the ritual _now_.”

“Tim. Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Bruce isn’t here—he’s at the police station trying to get the charges dropped against Steph and Dick released from custody. It’s just them. Her, Tim, Duke, and Kon, with Cass in a coma and Steph off trying to save the world.

“The world’s about to end! Do you have any better ideas?”

They look at each other, and they all nod.

“Okay,” Harper says, swallowing nervously. “What do we do?”

* * *

Steph and Harley walk towards the mansion.

“Do you think Babs is still alive?”

“Probably,” Harley says. At some point, Harley scrubbed the makeup off, and she looks… older, than Steph expected. The bite scars are everywhere, and she looks… frail.

“Are you going to be okay to fight?”

“I’m anemic, not helpless,” Harley says, hefting up a badass looking metal hammer. “’Sides. I can at least get your Watcher friend out of there.”

Steph swallows. “So this Batman—”

“Barbatos.”

“Right. Barbatos. He’s going to end the world?”

“Yeah. You pull the sword out of the mouth, and then he starts to wake up… and then he opens up the gates to hell.”

“And everyone dies.”

“Yep.”

Steph swallows.

“And if he opens the gate? Can we stop him?”

Harley shrugs, helplessly.

“I don’t know, this—I only really know what the Joker told me, and he’s not exactly interested in the “stopping it” part.”

“Well, I guess we better make sure it doesn’t start.”

* * *

“Steph!”

Just outside of the mansion, Harper Row is waiting for them, holding a stake and looking… well, worried.

“Harper!”

Steph hugs her friend tightly.

“Uh, who’s this?”

“Uh. Harper, this is Harley Quinn. She’s going to help me.”

“Nice ta meetcha,” Harley says, her accent slipping back just a little.

“What are you doing here?”

“We thought you could use some help,” Harper says. “Tim’s… he’s got this ritual, he and Babs were working on it. Tim thinks… he thinks he can get Jason’s soul back.”

Hope, terrible and wonderful, bursts in Steph’s chest.

“Really?”

“We’re… we’re not sure. They’re going to try. But… Bruce told me to pass along a message.”

“What is it?”

“If he pulls the sword out… you’re going to have to kill him to close it again.”

Steph closes her eyes.

“Well. Always knew we can’t trust boys with sharp objects. You just… you find Babs and get her out, okay? It’s going to be hard, they’ve probably hidden her chair, but you need to do it.”

“Got it.”

“And then you need to leave. I’ve got this.”

“Steph—”

“_I’ve got this_.”

Harper stares into Steph’s eyes. Can Harper tell how scared she is?

“Okay,” Harper says, softly.

“Good. Now let’s go.”

The three of them head into the mansion.

* * *

The ritual to wake Barbatos is terrifyingly simple. Clean clothes, clean skin, fresh blood, some ominous Latin chanting—Church Latin, of course—and a cut from a silver dagger across the length of his palm.

Really, Jason’s almost disappointed at how _easy _it is, to end the world.

“Just like your old man! I’m so proud of you, kiddo,” the Joker says, and Jason grins, and takes a step forward towards the statue and the sword.

One of the minions behind him lets out a horrible scream, and Jason turns, somehow unsurprised to see Stephanie Brown there, holding a holy sword and looking solemn and resolved.

“Hey Jason,” she says. “Miss me?”

“Ugh, I don’t have time for this,” Jason says, disgusted. “Couldn’t you have come half an hour ago? I’m _busy_.”

“Sorry. I think you’ll have to make room.”

Jason snorts. “C’mon, Blondie. You really think you can take all of us alone?” There are at least ten minions in the room, and he and the Joker alone would be more than she could handle.

“Maybe,” she admits. “But I’m not alone.”

That’s when Harley—_Harley_, of all people—comes up from behind them, and stakes the Joker right through the back.

“Got your back, puddin’,” she says, and her voice—

Taking advantage of his distraction, Stephanie Brown bears down on him with all of her strength.

Harley’s got a hammer, and she’s swinging it around at anything and everything in sight, and in the distance, he can see Harper Row, with that stupid blue hair of hers, helping Barbara Gordon out of the room where she’d been locked in.

The Joker is dust.

They need to _pay _for that.

He lashes out, kicking Steph hard in the chest, sending her crashing into a wall, and then he turns and runs towards the statue.

“Jason!” Steph yells, winded from the collision.

He ignores her. He grips the intricate gold grip of the sword and pulls it out of Barbatos’s mouth as easily as if it was a hot knife sliding through butter.

He turns, holding up the sword, as the shimmer of magic begins to fill the air.

Steph and Harley have dispatched most of the minions, but there’s still a few left. He signals for them to focus on Harley, and he makes his move towards the Slayer herself.

“End of the world, Steph. Glad you’re here to see it.”

She looks up at him, breathing heavily.

“You were _so close_, Blondie. Man, I bet that bugs you.”

“It’s not over yet,” Steph says, breathing heavily. She shifts into a ready position. She’s good with a sword, he has to admit it.

“Let’s fix that, before he wakes up. I _really _want to kill you. I’d hate to let him take the credit.”

* * *

Kon doesn’t know how he feels about this magic stuff. But Tim wants to do it, and he thinks this will save the world, so he’ll stand here holding the strongly smelling burning herbs (Duke’s already disabled the smoke detectors) as Duke chants Latin, and Tim tries to cast a curse.

_“What is lost, return,” _Tim says, holding the orb in his hands. “_Not dead, not of the living._ _Spirits of the spaces between, I call._”

* * *

Steph aches already from the initial blow. It’s been a rough night, she’s operating on snacks she’d eaten at her mom’s house and a power nap in the cemetery.

She’s tired, she’s off balance, and the world’s about to end.

But it doesn’t matter.

She’s the Slayer, she has a job.

She swings the sword at the Red Hood, and he laughs, easily parrying. He counters easily, and this time she blocks, her arms aching with the force of the blows.

Behind her, she sees Harley go through a window, glass shattering everywhere, but she doesn’t dare turn to see if her ally is alright, because as it is, Jason takes advantage of her distraction to swing again, forcing her to dodge, because she can’t parry in time.

He’s only a little taller than her with longer arms, and it gives him leverage that she can’t afford to give him. He has the strength of a fledgling with the knowledge and prowess of an older one, and he’s already tasted the blood of one Slayer.

The Red Hood is very, very dangerous.

And this time, she can’t afford to let it end with a draw.

* * *

Duke has seen Tim do weird stuff before, but this might take the cake. “_Bind him, cast his heart from the evil realm,_” Tim says. His breathing was strange and heavy, and each word felt… strangely heavy, as Tim chanted. As if it was taking physical effort to speak.

_“Let him know the pain of humanity. Reach your sacred hands to me. Give me the sword...”_ Tim intoned, gritting his teeth and closing his eyes.

Duke looked outside, and wondered if he’d even notice if the world ended.

* * *

She kicks his legs out from under him, and he goes down, but he doesn’t lose his grip on his sword, and he lashes out with a flurry of blows, refusing to give her the advantage as he gets back onto his feet.

Every lesson that Steph’s ever had about sword fighting is racing through her head, and she swings again, only to be parried, almost _casually_. She spins with the force of it, trying to use the momentum to build up more power, but she over-reaches, she leans too far, and she can _see _the moment when he realizes it, and his grin widens.

Her sword goes flying out of her hand with a flick of his wrist.

Steph lunges to the side, going for her sword, but his foot goes down on the blade, trapping it, and then his other foot catches her under the chin, sending her sprawling painfully into a nearby table.

“Close,” Jason taunts. “But no cigar.” 

* * *

Everything hurts, the words _burn _in his mouth, and his vision is starting to fade, even as he _feels _the magic moving through him. It’s working, the ritual is all right…

_I call on you; do not ignore this request._

It’s him.

_Let this orb be the vessel that will carry his soul to him._

Ra’s was right.

He’s not strong enough.

* * *

Steph scrambles backwards from Jason. Her shoulder hurts something awful, and her sword is feet away, out of reach. She’d given her stake to Harley, left Mister Pointy with Harper and Babs… she’s out of weapons.

And, judging from the look on Jason’s face, out of time.

She’s going to die here.

And this time, there’s no coming back.

“Now this!” Jason says, his grin almost fond. “_This _is what I’ve been looking for. You know, I was kind of worried about ending the world. It didn’t feel _personal_ enough, you know? But this… this is just right. The way a Slayer _should _die, realizing that you’re just a pathetic little girl jumping at shadows. And you’re not even a good one, are you? Can’t save anyone, need back up all the time, need all of the fancy tools and tricks, because you’re not strong enough to take care of things yourself. Now that? That’s _everything_. You’ve lost _everything_. No friends… no weapons… no hope.”

Steph’s heart is racing in her chest, and she forces herself to meet Jason’s gaze. There’s no pity, no mercy there. Just delight, pride, and eagerness.

She closes her eyes.

“Take that away,” Jason goads her. “And what’s left?”

Even with her eyes closed, she can hear the swing of the sword. The displacement of the air. The buzz of magic. The darkness of his presence.

The edges of the sword cut her hands, but she doesn’t care as she claps it between her hands, catching it an inch away from her neck.

“Me,” she says. She pushes the blade away, and the hilt hits Jason in the face.

* * *

The air grows cold, in the hospital room, and Cass’s eyes flow open. “Tim!”

But Tim doesn’t pay her any attention, as he struggles to chant the next line.

_“It is… written… this… this power is my… right to—” _

He stops.

“Tim?” Kon says, reaching for his boyfriend.

Tim’s head snaps up, and his eyes—

_His eyes_.

With renewed energy, Tim starts chanting again, faster, stronger, more confident than ever before.

_“It is written this power is my right to wield. Return to the body what separates man from animal,_ _until the moment when he finds peace from this torment._”

* * *

Jason stumbles backwards, the sword lost to him.

“You know,” Steph says, grabbing the sword that had nearly just killed her. “Someone just asked me a question. About people running when things get tough. About _why_, you know?”

She brings the sword down, and this time, Jason’s on the defense, scrambling away to grab the sword that he had knocked out of her hand, just barely managing to block her.

“That’s easy—you can become someone else, wherever you land, right? Who’s going to know the difference?”

She kicks him, and he stumbles backwards, towards that horrible statue, which is starting to glow, a warning of how _close _things are to the end of the world.

“So why stay? Why set yourself up for more failure?” Steph unleashes a barrage of blows onto Jason, who just barely manages to block all of them, each strike sending him another step backwards, towards the statue. “For more pain?”

Towards where she’ll have to end it.

“Also easy—because we don’t know how to do anything else.”

Jason lashes out, and Steph parries, turning his momentum into a spin, and then she slashes him across the face, causing him to howl in pain.

“So why stay? Why open yourself up to all the bad you’ve tried to leave behind?”

She spins again, kicking Jason backwards until he collides with the statue.

“You can forget who you are, or you can be who you want to be.” Steph raises the sword, breathing heavily. “That’s why you stay. You stay for a _second chance_.”

“Cute speech, Blondie. But that doesn’t change who you are,” Jason says, wiping blood away from his mouth.

“You’re right,” Steph says, finding a strange calm that she can’t explain, as she raises the sword for the fatal blow. “I’m Stephanie. The Vampire Slayer.”

* * *

_“So shall it be with the help of this magic crystal globe._

_So it shall be! So it shall _be!

_Now! Now!_”

* * *

There’s a flash of light, as Jason’s eyes are taken over by a green lightning, before clearing up.

“Steph?”

* * *

“Tim! Someone call the nurse, he’s passed out!”

* * *

“Jason?” Steph asks, not lowering her guard.

“Steph? Where are we?” Jason says, looking around. “I—you’re hurt!” He struggles to his feet. “Steph, where’s Bruce? Where’s Dick?”

Steph stares.

“Jason?”

“Who else would it be?”

Steph lets out a sob, a sob that has been building for _months _now, and she throws herself at Jason, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“You’re back! I missed you so much, you idiot—you can’t leave me, you’re my best friend, I need you—”

He hugs her back. “I—you’re my best friend too, Blondie, what’s wrong? Where are we? I can’t… everything’s fuzzy, I don’t remember—”

There’s an awful creaking noise, and Steph and Jason both turn in time to see the statue open its jaw.

“Is that—is that Barbatos? Is it _awake_?”

“It is.”

“Well, who opened it? We’ve got a minute left, we can probably still fix this?”

“How do you know?”

“I was a Watcher in training, I read things!”

“What do we do?”

Jason grabs her by the shoulder. “Whoever opened it, their blood is the key. We can close it. You just need to drive that sword through them, and the statue. Okay, so? Where are they?”

Steph stares at him, and shakes her head.

“Steph?”

“You did it. You opened the portal, Jason.”

Jason stares at her.

He looks over his shoulder, at the portal.

He straightens his shoulders, and adjusts the lapel of his leather jacket.

“Well. That sucks.”

“Don’t joke about this!”

“You’ve got to do it, Blondie. It’s for the best.”

“I won’t—I just got you back!”

“I know. I’m sorry. But there’s no one else. No one else can do it for you.”

Steph looks down, her tears racing down her face.

“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. You’ve got to.”

Steph swallows, and nods once.

“Okay.”

“Tell… tell Bruce and Dick I’m sorry, okay? And that I love them.”

Steph nods once.

“Close your eyes,” she whispers.

He does.

She draws the sword back, and drives it right through his chest, through the statue, and his eyes open again as he gasps in pain.

“_Steph_—”

The portal flares, golden and brilliant and dangerous, and Steph’s vision goes white with the light of it.

When her vision clears up…

Jason is gone.

The statue is silent and still.

She falls to her knees, limp and broken.

A hand falls on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Stephanie,” Leslie says.

“I need to—I need to tell the others,” she whispers, the words stuck in her throat. “I need to—I’ve got to talk to my mom and check on everyone and—”

Leslie places a finger over Steph’s mouth.

“It’s okay to take a break, Stephanie,” she whispers. “You’ve done so much.”

Steph looks at the statue.

“Really?”

“Really.” Leslie smiles. “I promised you answers, didn’t I?” She brushes aside Steph’s tears. “Go say your goodbyes, and pack your things. I’ll be waiting outside your house.”

* * *

“A note?” Bruce says, frowning at the phone. “She left a note?”

“She says—she says she needs space. That she’s safe. And she’s sorry,” Crystal Brown says. “Bruce, she packed a suitcase. She took her _passport_.”

Bruce glances around the library, at all of the children who have ended up in his care.

“I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” he says. “She’s been through a lot. Perhaps she just wants to wait until the charges are dropped.”

“I hope so,” Crystal says, before hanging up the phone.

“She’ll be back, right?” Harper says, looking around. “I mean, she’s got to come back… right?”

* * *

Steph puts her suitcase in the back of Leslie’s car, and crawls in the passenger seat.

“So, where are we going?”

“Ethiopia,” Leslie says.

“… like, the country? In Africa?”

“Yes.” Leslie smiles. “Everything starts there, you see.”

“What does?”

“Slayers,” Leslie says with a smile, starting the car. The engine roars softly to life, and the radio turns on.

The road out of Gotham is long, and Steph stares out the window, watching the tress fly by, hoping that they’ll understand. Hoping they’ll forgive her.

She hums along to the song playing on the radio, and she watches the sign telling them they’re leaving Gotham appear and disappear in the rearview mirror.

_Now we're back to the beginning_

_It's just a feeling and no one knows yet_

_But just because they can't feel it too_

_Doesn't mean that you have to forget_

_Let your memories grow stronger and stronger_

_'Til they're before your eyes_

_You'll come back_

_When they call you_

_No need to say goodbye_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics at the end are from Regina Spektor's "The Call." And don't worry about Jason, he'll be back. Eventually.


	6. wish i could slay your demons: part i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph learns more about the origin of Slayers, while the rest of the gang, back in Gotham, tries to adjust. 
> 
> Meanwhile, dark forces are stirring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone who commented on the last arc! Now we're starting "season 3" which is a MUCH looser adaptation than the last arc was of Buffy Season 2. But I hope we'll still have fun. 
> 
> Warnings for this chapter: references to drug use, grief and mourning, and blood.

Ethiopia is hot, sunny, and beautiful.

Steph walks besides Leslie through the streets of the village, carrying the boxes full of medical supplies. All around them are houses and people, and farmland stretches out in all directions, the small collection of farms and animals that make up this community bustling with anticipation.

Leslie, in her white coat and broad hat, radiates a sense of peace and calm that Steph can’t help but bask in.

Here, there are no monsters to fight, no Hellmouth to defeat, no responsibilities, no pressure to be the Slayer. Vampires overwhelmingly tend towards cities, where the are more buildings to shelter in during the day and people who go missing are noticed less. And Leslie has explained, without explaining, demons avoid this part of the country.

Here, she can just be Stephanie Brown, a seventeen-year-old girl. With superpowers. But mostly just Stephanie Brown, a seventeen-year-old girl.

This is their third village in as-many weeks, with Leslie taking them through the villages to help distribute medicine and do whatever they can. The nearest clinic is miles away, and years of decreasing farm yields mean that the town can’t afford to buy the medicine and vaccines themselves, making them dependent on people like them.

It’s awful, seeing this side of the world’s darkness—the side of things untouched by demons, magic, and monsters. But Stephanie can’t solve this on her own, can’t magically bring these people a doctor, can’t just send someone to school to get the training they need to do this themselves.

Right now, the only thing she can do is just to help Leslie do whatever she can.

Three young women from the village are helping them today, listening intently as Leslie shows them how to do basic procedures, instructs them about keeping injuries clean and shows them how to set a bone.

“Two of them will be doctors,” Leslie says in English to her. They’re seated around a table with their host family, with food piled on the table. Leslie had sent Steph to the market earlier that day to buy as much food as she could, and the family’s children are practically vibrating with excitement at the huge feast laid out before them. “The third will be a nurse. And all of them might even stay in the country, after they’re trained.”

Steph startles at the words. All day her ears have been filled with the sound of Oromo and Amharic, languages she’s scrambling to learn, while Leslie speaks them with a perfect lilt that the locals are impressed by.

“You can tell that?”

“Sometimes,” Leslie says. “They all want it, they want to help and learn.” She smiles and reaches into the center of the table to help herself. “My powers are limited. But I could do this for them; I can help them get to school, give them the chances they long for.”

Steph looks down at the food in her own hands.

“Is that what you’re doing for me?”

“Similar, I suppose,” Leslie acknowledges with a smile. “But Stephanie… the difference between you and those young women…”

“Is that I already have a job?” Steph says, bitter.

“No,” Leslie says, not unkindly. “It’s that you don’t _know _what you want.”

Steph swallows her mouthful of food. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” she parrots.

“Of course it does,” Leslie admonishes her. “The Watchers can say otherwise as much as they want, but that does not mean you don’t _matter_.”

“I’m the Slayer,” Steph says, uncertain. “I have an obligation to help people.”

“Yes,” Leslie says. “But there are two of you, now. Gotham is guarded while you are here. You have friends and family who love you, and they all wish for you to be happy. You can be the Slayer, and only the Slayer. You would not be the first to make that choice. But you are _more _than that, Stephanie. And there are many different ways that you can help.”

“Like what?”

Leslie gestures around them. “This work is no less important than what you were doing in cemeteries. Even back in the United States, there are plenty of places that can always use another pair of hands and a good heart. There are places that need doctors and nurses, teachers or social workers.” Leslie cups Steph’s cheek in her hand. “You have been given a gift, Stephanie, for all that it might feel like a curse. Perhaps you will never be able to stop fighting entirely. There will always be monsters to fight, both human and demon. But that does not mean you need to stay in Gotham, wearing yourself to the bone doing nothing _but_.”

Steph stares into her eyes, impossibly kind and deep. “But… my friends. My family.” She swallows. “And… Cass. She’s not going to just stop.”

“Cassandra has different lessons than you to learn,” Leslie says. “Her journey is her own, and she’s not ready to hear these words yet.”

Steph swallows.

“I’m going to die,” she says. “Soon, probably.”

“Will you?” Leslie says, raising an eyebrow.

“I—all Slayers die young. So why does it matter what I want?”

“Yes, Slayers _tend to _die young,” Leslie says, with a frown on her face that Steph can’t understand. “But that does not mean they _have _to. You already live, when the magic says you’ve died.”

“That—that was a fluke. If it weren’t for Harper—”

“You cannot say that all of your strength comes from your friends, Stephanie,” Leslie says. “You, and you alone, defeated the Red Hood, sealed the demon’s mouth, and saved the world. You had him beaten even before Tim called Jason Todd’s soul back to his body.”

Steph looks down.

“I killed him,” she whispers.

“And he asked you to,” Leslie points out.

“What, and that makes it _easier_?”

“No. But it is what it is,” Leslie says. “And you are avoiding the question. Stephanie. What. Do. You. _Want_?”

Steph clenches her fist, and lets the truth spill out.

“I want to go home. I want to see my friends. I want to hug my mom, and have her _understand_, instead of just hiding from the truth. I want to fight monsters with Cass and help people, but I—I also want to play piano. I want to go to Homecoming and dance with my friends and eat greasy burgers and wear clothes that are going to age horribly and I want to take dumb selfies that I can look back on in twenty years and say “I was _happy,_” I want to listen to Duke and Tim argue about comic books and listen to Harper talk about her latest project and see Cass smile and—” Steph swallows. “I’m just… I’m just a girl. I want to be that.”

Leslie smiles. “There is no _just_, Stephanie. You are remarkable, and you were so before you were Called.” Leslie hands Steph another handful of food. “Now, eat up. We go to the cave tonight.”

“Cave?” Steph says warily.

“The Cave of the First Slayer,” Leslie says. “It’s time you understand where you came from.”

* * *

Cass is cold.

She wraps herself in yet another blanket and moves towards the kitchen, where she knows Bruce has tea that she can heat up for herself.

She’s been cold ever since the hospital, since Tim did… whatever he did, and then when she finally got to leave the next day, only to find out that Steph was gone.

It’s stupid. Cass shouldn’t _need _Steph. The other girl is someone who she never should have even met. There have never been two Slayers before. It’s an abomination, a rip in the universe, it’s probably why she’s never been able to go as deep into the darkness as her Father was sure she should be able to. A second Slayer must be holding her connection back.

And yet…

Cass misses her. Misses her jokes and her laughter, her commentary on patrols, the way she keeps losing her stakes and ends up needing to improvise with whatever she can get her hands on—pencils and fence posts and tree branches.

Her company.

It’s not like Cass is lonely—Bruce and Dick are here in the house, and Duke has moved in as well. There’s Babs, in her apartment across town that Cass is always welcome at, and Tim and Harper are always welcoming.

She has _friends_.

But…

She still misses Stephanie Brown.

Things have been quiet, since the Red Hood died. The Joker is dead as well, and his minions are scattered to the winds. Harper spotted Harley Quinn leaving town, her face scrubbed clean of makeup, on the next bus to Chicago, but no one’s spotted her since, despite Bruce calling all his contacts.

Where she’s gone to, Cass isn’t sure, but a part of her doubts they’ll see her again.

Harper, Tim, Kon, and Duke don’t let her patrol alone. They follow her around, trying to help where they can, although none of them are very good at it. Harper focuses too much on trying to quip like Steph, Kon gets distracted any time that Tim looks like he might be in danger, Tim is too self-conscious about his form, and Duke freezes up a lot, particularly when a vampire reveals its true face.

Bad memories.

Cass just does her best to keep them all alive, and reports to Bruce dutifully at sunrise each morning before crawling into bed and sleeping, only to be woken up at some point in the afternoon to join her friends in their search for Steph.

Steph’s passport was used to arrive in London, but despite Dick going there several times, he can’t find her there. He thinks she took the “Chunnel” to France, but he’s not sure where she might have gone from there, or why. They’re not sure where she got the money to travel in the first place, for that matter, and it’s making Bruce nervous.

“School’s starting soon,” Harper says, flipping her stake in her hand. “So she’s… she’s got to come home then, right?”

“She’s expelled,” Kon points out. “That… I mean, if I was expelled, I’d _definitely _take an extended summer vacation.”

They all give Kon a _look_. “What? It’s true!”

“She’ll come back,” Cass says calmly, trying not to show how much she misses her. “Soon.”

She hopes, anyways.

* * *

Tim stuffs his magic book into his backpack and slings it over his shoulder, yawning and rubbing at his eyes as he moves to exit the library.

“Tim,” Bruce calls, standing outside his office. “Can we talk?”

There’s no good reason for him to refuse, even though Tim is _really _tired and just wants to go home.

“I wanted to talk to you about the ritual of restoration,” Bruce says, as soon as the door to his office closes behind Tim.

Tim freezes. “What? I already told you what happened.”

“Tim, the power required to do that ritual is extreme and dangerous,” Bruce says quietly.

“And I _told _you,” Tim says, irritated. “I was trying it anyways, and then—I don’t know, something took control of me and finished the spell. Nothing _happened_.”

“If some foreign power took control of you, Tim, that means that you’re exceptionally vulnerable to magical influences.”

“I’m—”

“I’m not going to forbid you from learning magic, Tim. I’m not your father, and you wouldn’t obey me even if I had the authority,” Bruce says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But Tim, you _need _to be honest with me. I’ve seen what can happen to people who dabble in the dark arts. Who turn to external sources of power.”

It’s easy to forget how tall Bruce is, most of the time. The man is easily over six feet, but he doesn’t lean into it often. Other students talk a lot about how intimidating Mr. Wayne the librarian is, but Tim forgets it most of the time. The way that he can hold himself, the way that his gaze can become the most intense thing in the universe.

“I’ve seen people grow addicted to the slightest taste of power, until they starve themselves to death because they can’t think about anything else. I’ve seen people get so caught up in magical sensations that they don’t care who they hurt in the process. I’ve seen people indebt themselves to powerful creatures and find themselves bound into lifetimes of servitude. I’ve seen people massacre their own families to get the ingredients they need for spells.” Bruce’s gaze is paralyzing. “But I can’t help you, Tim, if you’re not _honest _with me.”

Tim swallows, and looks down.

“Tim. What. Happened.”

Tim meets Bruce’s eyes steadily and lies through his teeth.

“Like I said. I don’t know.”

Bruce gives him a quiet, exhausted look that says he _wants _to believe him, but he’s not sure he does.

Tim leaves the library, the exhaustion settling into his bones as he forces himself home.

Bruce was right; magic had a cost.

Right now, the cost was just his energy. Everything he did exhausted him more quickly than ever, and it took him forever to rest up and manage to do anything.

Ra’s had been perfectly understanding. The end of the world was at stake, after all.

It was a small price to pay, if it had made Steph’s fight against Jason just that much easier.

His dad is downstairs, watching television. “Hey Tim!” His father calls. Dad’s been in a better mood all summer, since he started physical therapy. Tim tells himself it’s not because Steph’s gone, because that’s looking too much into things.

“Hi Dad,” he parrots back. He’s got an excuse all prepared, if his dad ever notices that he’s tired all the time, that he’s not going out with his friends—Mono is his plan, he’s pretty sure he can fake the diagnosis if his dad makes him go to the doctor for it.

But Dad _hasn’t _noticed, which is nice. He can tell Kon and Harper and Duke and Cass that his dad wants him home more, since the monsters and mayhem and magic are on summer vacation too, and he can just go to bed and sleep, like his dad thinks he’s always doing, rather than fighting back against the forces of darkness.

He collapses into his bed and goes to sleep immediately, not even bothering to take off his shoes.

His dreams are filled with pits of liquid fire and a burning in his wrist.

* * *

Crystal Brown has never wanted to not be sober more in her life than these past few weeks.

Her daughter was right.

She has been hiding from things, from the truth about it all. She ignored the warning signs, ignored the fact that the man that she had married hadn’t been a conspiracy theorist who had taken far too much pleasure in hitting her and controlling every aspect of her life, but had been actively involved in the supernatural community while taking too much pleasure in hitting her and controlling every aspect of her life.

She had buried her head in the sand, had tried to pretend that everything was fine, here in Gotham, and because of that, her daughter had been all alone, when she should have been able to trust and depend on her.

Bruce tells her that Stephanie probably just needed a break after what happened—a fight with a vampire who was her friend, a would-be-apocalypse, a rescue mission. He assures her that it probably has nothing to do with her.

But Crystal isn’t sure she believes that.

Perhaps Stephanie had finally just realized that she deserves so much better than Crystal and has rightfully tried to reclaim her life. Or perhaps she’s out there, alone, and needing help, and Crystal just can’t _find _her.

Either way, Crystal needs to stay sober. She needs her head to be clear, needs her hands to be steady, so that she can be a better mother this time, can be the mother that her daughter _deserves_.

* * *

_She dreams of a boy with bright green eyes. _

_“Steph?” He’s young, he’s oh, so young and it’s not fair, he never asked for this, he should be a child, he shouldn’t be afraid and clinging to her like she’s the only stable thing in the entire world. _

_“It’s going to be okay,” she tells him. She swings the dark-haired boy onto her back, and he clings to her as she wades into the dangerous, rolling waters. His grip is like steel, but the water batters at them, soaking them to the bone, and she grips his legs with one arm that she really needs to maintain her balance, because she can’t risk the current ripping him off her back. _

_“I’m scared,” he says, and she knows how much it hurts him to admit it. _

_“I’ll protect you,” she promises. “No matter what.” _

_Above them, the shadow of the Earth slowly begins to cover the moon, and her heart races in her throat. _

* * *

“Nothing again,” Dick says, shrugging off his jacket as he enters Babs’s apartment.

“Damn it,” Babs says, looking up from her set up.

She has a laptop, of course, and she can do just about anything with a USB drive, a phone, and an internet connection, but at the end of the day, she prefers her full set up, with all of its power, the proper keyboard, and high definition monitors.

“I did get another description of the woman she’s travelling with,” Dick says. “Elderly, white hair, “looks like your favorite aunt,” about five-five.”

“And still no images,” Babs says, folding her hands over her keyboard.

“No pictures,” he says. He sits down to unlace his boots. “I thought London had cameras everywhere.”

“They do. It’s how I keep an eye on what the Council does,” Babs says, chewing on her lip absently. “But—Dick, we still don’t know _who _it is that Steph is travelling with, and with Cass here, we can’t even—we might not be able to tell if Steph is dead.”

“Don’t say that,” Dick says. “She left a note, remember? She’s fine. She just needs some time to herself.” Dick’s eyes travel to the wall, where there’s a picture of himself, Babs, and Jason, before they had even heard of the Joker. “I can’t exactly blame her.”

“And I was willing to give her _some _space,” Babs says. “But it’s been weeks, Dick, and we haven’t heard from her at all.”

“She just—she killed the Red Hood,” Dick says. “If it had been me—” He stops, unable to even think of something appropriate.

He misses Jason something awful; the pain of it is something he’d learned to live with, after losing him the first time. But now, it’s fresh again, doubled by everything that he had done when he’d been soulless.

And this time, they’re not going to get him back. Steph’s note was clear on that.

Babs wheels back in her chair and wraps her fingers through his own. “It’s okay to miss him,” she whispers.

“I should be glad,” he says. Her face is starting to grow watery, the clear crisp lines of her blurring. “He—the Red Hood was a monster. He was going to destroy the world.”

“You’re not missing the Red Hood,” Babs says, cupping Dick’s face in her hand. “You’re missing Jason. Our Jason, who smuggled me chocolate when I was in the hospital and who designed a watch that never wound down for Bruce and who—” She breaks off in a sob, and that’s all that it takes for the dam to break.

Neither of them had let themselves grieve, not really. There had been Babs’s recovery, there had been the search for Stephanie, there had been Cass and Duke’s adoption process, there had been properly taking care of the statue. There had been excuse after excuse, task after task, and they had both just kept _going_, because there was no one to blame, no one to hurt.

But now, it was six weeks later, and the grief would not be kept back any longer.

It flows out of both of them, tears streaming down there faces as Dick falls to his knees, resting his cheek against Babs’s leg, her head bent over his, her hands in his hair as the two of them cry for Jason Todd. Both the boy who the Joker had killed and the vampire with a soul; their friend, their family, their brother.

They cry for him, together in Babs’s apartment, in a way they wouldn’t let themselves cry anywhere else.

* * *

Duke’s room in Bruce’s house is kind of bland, if he’s being honest. Cass is right next door, and his new sister isn’t particularly inclined to decorate with anything but weapons.

The stuff from his house is all boxed up and waiting for him, but he… he doesn’t necessarily _want _to recreate his old room in this new house. His old posters and books feel… hollow now, as if they don’t have anything to do with him. Too many of them have memories attached to them; reading the books with his parents, his mom buying him a poster at a museum store, even though it was far too expensive. His academic certificates and medals, the pictures of him and his parents… he just can’t deal with any of those. Not right now.

But the blank, beige walls of his room are going to drive him crazy too.

It’s his senior year, and he officially has no idea what he’s going to do with himself. All of his plans feel… shallow, somehow, when he knows that there are monsters out there. Being a professor or an engineer or a lawyer or any of his other thoughts, so easily picked up and tossed aside, because they were never real, never _present_… what good do any of them do, really?

Bruce’s house is large, and Duke knows there are plenty of rooms that he’s never been in. Dick had given up his own room, painted a deep shade of blue, those first few nights after Duke’s entire world had changed, faded circus posters on the walls and a series of photobooth strips tucked into the corner of the mirror, featuring a group of teenagers, Dick among them, laughing and embracing and making faces in turn.

He’s seen Bruce’s room, with its heavy black-out curtains and charcoal walls, the furniture sleek and minimalist, the only hint of the man who lived there a series of photographs on the bed stand, showing Dick, Barbara, Jason, a man that Duke has never met but knows is called Alfred.

There are other photos too, newer ones. One of Steph, her head bent over sharpening a sword, smiling at something secret. One of Cass, her hands wrapped as she punches a training dummy. Duke himself, with an ancient text about demons in one hand and a soda can in the other. Tim and Harper making a house of cards while Kon dozes in the background.

Duke found Jason’s room by accident. The painted green like springtime, the shelves positively overflowing with books, a workbench covered in tools, a thick Watcher journal on the bedside.

As if he was going to come home any day now and pick up where he left off.

Duke avoided that room, after that.

“Hey Cass?” Duke says, leaning against the door jam. “Do you like. Have any hobbies?”

“Hobbies?” She asks. She’s got an axe in each hand, which explains a lot about the noises he’s been hearing through the walls.

“Like. Things you do. Besides killing monsters.”

She opens her mouth.

“And training to kill monsters.”

She opens her mouth again.

“Or researching how to kill monsters.”

She closes her mouth sulkily.

Duke sighs. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Do I need one?” She asks. “A… hobby?” The word is clearly strange in her mouth, and Duke has to laugh at the expression on her face.

“Well, no. But it’s nice. It helps you relax.”

“I don’t need to relax,” she says. “I need to train.”

“Not how _anything _works, sis,” Duke says. “Science says that relaxation is good for you. It’s like sleep. No one can be on all the time; it tires you out. Slows you down.”

Cass’s eyes widen—yeah, he thought that would be the part that got her. “Really?”

“Really.”

Cass stiffens her shoulders. “What is the best hobby?”

“That’s—that’s also not how it works. It needs to be something you enjoy.”

“Slayers don’t enjoy things,” Cass says, frowning.

“That’s a lie, I’ve seen your face after you kicked Steph’s ass in training.”

Cass looks thoughtful.

“Beating up Steph can’t be your hobby.” He pauses, considering how short Steph’s note was. “Or at least, not your only hobby.”

“What’s… your hobby?” Cass asks.

“Well—I like reading for fun. I like puzzles.”

“Puzzles?” Cass looks interested. “I—I remember puzzles. From when I was little.”

Cass doesn’t talk about her childhood much—it’s all a series of horror stories that Bruce doesn’t react to much at all, which makes Duke think that the Watchers seriously screw their Slayers up, or Bruce has the world’s best poker face. It could be both, honestly.

But either way, it’s depressing.

“I know where we can get some puzzles,” Duke says, rather than touching on Cass’s trauma, because he’s seventeen years old and is dealing with his own shit. “C’mon.”

They do a five-hundred-piece puzzle of a rose in one sitting.

That night, Duke goes online and orders a kit that will allow him to frame a puzzle.

Cass can use some wall decorations.

* * *

Harper pushes open the door to Jason’s old crypt, sighing as she looks around.

Everything looks in awful shape; a thin layer of dust has covered all of Jason’s things, and there’s a _horrible _smell coming from the mini fridge.

Harper knows, of all people, how easy it is to let things just… be, after losing someone.

But at some point, you’ve got to clean the dirty laundry. You need to empty the trash bin. You need to scrub the shower walls. Mold and bad smells doesn’t do anything for anyone; not the dead, not those left behind.

She hasn’t told anyone what she’s doing; she knows some of them would want to help her, but she doesn’t want the help.

She gets out the giant trash bag she brought with her and starts with the fridge.

All the blood in there is expired—she’s not sure if it’s pig’s blood from the butcher or bags of stuff from the Red Cross, but she’s not sure she _wants _to know, either.

It all goes in the bag, as does the ash tray full of cigarette butts. There’s some dirty laundry in a basket, but he must have done a load right before he lost his soul, because there’s not a lot of it.

At some point or another, some other vampire or demon will want to move into this space. They’ll wreck Jason’s couch and steal his cigarettes and fill his fridge with their own blood. So, as much as she might like to just leave things where they are, with the exception of the basic maintenance, she also wants to makes sure she’s saved everything of Jason’s that Bruce or Dick or even Steph might want.

She finds his spare leather jacket in the closet and sets it in the laundry basket she found. She finds a few impressive looking tomes on vampire and demon lore, including at least one she’s pretty sure is from the library, and she puts those in the basket too. 

Harper sighs and puts away his unlit pack of cigarettes as she moves to remove the sheets from the bed. None of them smoke, or she’d probably feel obligated to give them away, but as it is… they’ll serve as a decent enough reminder of whose space this was.

She moves his pillow, and then pauses, as she finds a well-worn, many-times folded, photograph beneath the pillow.

She peaks at it, and sees that it’s unmistakably Bruce, with Jason, Dick, and an old man. Swallowing, she puts it between the pages of one of the books she’s bringing back, and keeps looking.

Jason’s cell phone was thrown into a drawer, completely dead. Frowning, she plugs it in to look at later, while she finishes the rest of the cleanup.

She takes the trash out, and then, after locating Jason’s car keys, she goes back to the phone.

It’s pretty easy for her to get into the phone, even though she’s sure that Jason thinks he’s smart, doing one of those pattern-locks, and she scrolls through it, looking at all of the missed calls—mostly from Steph, the night everything went to shit.

But—oh.

There are photos. Some are normal, ordinary things. There are a few fuzzy distance shots of dogs, a few accidental screenshots, some saved memes.

But there are also selfies. Selfies with Steph.

The two of them leaning against each other, giving each other bunny ears, laughing. The two of them, back to back, trying to look serious. One of Jason grinning widely while Steph snoozes in the background.

She’d known they were friends.

But this, somehow… it’s so, intensely, private. Personal. A side to both of them that she’d never really seen before.

She pauses, unsure of what to do, before she sends herself all of his photos.

She’ll give them to Steph when she comes back.

* * *

The stars are so, so bright out here.

Steph isn’t an astronomer; she doesn’t know the stars all that well. She can pick out the Little Dipper, and she can pretty reliably point at the moon and tell you that it’s the moon, but really, that’s about it.

Her love affair with the stars is purely aesthetic. She loves staring up at them.

When she was really young, before everything started going bad, they’d lived out in the suburbs, and on clear nights… she had been able to see the stars. She would climb out onto the roof, even though it was against all the rules her parents laid out for her, and just gazed up at them, making up names and stories for them.

The air is cold here, and Steph clumsily pauses to fasten the metal buttons of her denim jacket.

She never wears it Slaying, but here, it brings her a touch of comfort, of familiarity. It has patches on it, ones that she’d carefully ironed on herself, and others that her mom had done for her. Patches for her martial arts classes, back in Los Angeles, before the money ran out and she had to stop. Patches for a summer camp she went to, one summer. One of a piano that Mom bought her, years ago, and one of Gotham’s skyline that Duke had given her as a birthday present last year.

“Come,” Leslie says. In her soft grey woolen skirt, white, pearl-buttoned blouse, and chunky-knit green cardigan, she seems completely foreign here, under the stars, with the mountains rising up behind her, their peaks reaching for the stars. “We’ve got a long way to go tonight.”

Steph stares up at the stars, one last time, and then nods, looking back at Leslie.

“Okay.”

Leslie leads her up a small, winding path that apparently shepherds use. She can see them in the distance, the orange glow of their fires revealing the shadows of them, clustered towards the warmth, occasionally broken by the bluish glow of their phone screens.

Steph left her phone in her room back in Gotham.

It had felt obvious at the time, an easy choice to make, because her heart felt like it was going to cleave in two, her ribcage bursting, and every broken thing about her was just going to unravel and come undone, and she didn’t want any of them to see that.

Jason was dead, and it had been _him_, not the impersonal and monstrous Red Hood, who she had drive a sword through. It was _him_ who she had sent through that portal, into the hell dimension, possibly under the direct control of the demon who had been about to bring about Armageddon.

None of them could understand—or worse, they could, and they would hate her as much as she hated herself.

She couldn’t get it out of her mind—the feeling of Jason’s ribs giving way to the sword, the expression on his face, even though he had known it was coming, even though he had _told _her to do it, the gasp of pain, the way his eyes had flickered open, wide with the pain, the absolute last thing of him that she had seen.

She forces herself to stop in her tracks, and stares at the stars again.

One of them is moving too fast, racing across the heavens, and Steph watches it, mesmerized.

“The International Space Station,” Leslie says, from her elbow. “The stars remained utterly predictable for millenia, until you humans, in all of your cleverness and desire for adventure, decided that you wanted to reach out, to see more, to know everything you can.”

Leslie’s eyes trace the horizon with affection. “So many of my peers fear you humans. They’re worried what will happen, if you keep growing. If you keep learning. If you can pull yourself out of these messes that a few have built for you.”

“And you?”

Leslie meets her gaze. “I worry only that, one day, there will be war. A war so great, so horrible, that all sides lose everything, and no one remembers any other way, afterwards.” She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the wrinkles on her face seem deeper than anything that Steph has ever seen.

How old is Leslie, really? Steph knows she’s a Power, but what a Power _is_, Steph is no closer to understanding.

Something ancient. Something powerful. Something… more.

Leslie takes her hand and leads her up to the mouth of the cave.

“Your answers are here,” Leslie says, smiling at her.

Steph looks into the cave. All she can see are stalactites—or are they stalagmites? She can never remember the difference. Everything else is darkness; a darkness so deep and thick that it could go on forever.

“You do not have to go,” Leslie whispers, when Steph hesitates.

“I do,” Steph says, and steps into the cave.

* * *

_She was named Sineya, after a flower that grows in the shadow of trees, because her mother had craved them the entire time she carried her, and the joke was always that it was, in fact, her who craved them, through her mother’s mouth. _

_It was a dark and dangerous time, and she had a weapon in her hand before she was twelve years old. She killed her first demon when she was fourteen, a task which the entire village whispered about, because normally it took three grown warriors to take down such a creature. _

_When she was seventeen, five villages came together and held a competition to identify the greatest warrior in the region, because the demons were rising, were seeking to destroy all of humanity, and the world needed a champion. _

_Sineya won all of the competitions, even though her parents begged her not to compete, fearing what would happen next. She ignored their warnings. She was a woman grown, and she had lost too many friends to the demons. _

_The magicians of the five villages took her to the cave. _

_To fight the demons, she must become like them. _

_There is an ancient, dangerous demon who slumbers in the cave, one of the Old Gods, who’s footsteps shaped mountains and whose tears bring immortality. _

_The magicians wrap her in spells and place a sword of star metal in her hands. With their magic at her back, she fights the creature, and slays it. _

_She rips open the ribcage, and rivers of black blood flow out, staining everything it touches. _

_The magicians flee, afraid of the darkness, afraid of touching it, but she is not. _

_She takes the darkness into herself, imbues herself in the power of the monster. She will be as strong, as fast, as clever as any demon. _

_Sineya emerges from the cave, covered in the blood, and the magicians bind the magic to her and then cast a spell, so that the power will not vanish when she dies. _

_They go with her to the river, after that, and they bathe together, to clean off the darkness. _

_Slayer, they name her. _

_She names them her friends. And they will fight together for the rest of her days. _

* * *

Steph steps out of the darkness, into the cave.

Here, there is a gap in the ceiling, exposing the moonlight and bringing light.

And she stops and stares.

The enormous skeleton has been stripped clean by time, but it would easily be three times the size of a house. She can’t make out the shape of it, although she can identify at least three hands, and spots a skull, cracked right down the middle.

It was still here, after… what, six thousand years? She had no date for what she had seen, in the darkness.

Only the name.

_Sineya. _

There’s a sword in the center of the beast’s… ribcage? It’s been driven into the ground, and something about it sings to her.

She pauses, as she realizes that it’s not ground.

It’s black and thick, like ooze…

“Come,” a voice calls.

Steph looks up, shocked, and then she stops still in her tracks again.

“Sineya?” She says.

The woman looks so much older than what she had seen in the vision. Her dreadlocks are silver, her face covered in scars and wrinkles, her hands spotted.

“Come,” Sineya repeats, her hand outstretched.

Steph swallows, and then steps forward, into the demon’s blood.

It clings to her jeans and her shoes like a thousand tiny fingers. Each step is an enormous effort, but it’s not… wet. It’s not soaking through.

She moves forward, until she arrives at the sword, where Sineya is.

“You’re the First Slayer,” Steph whispers, staring at her. She’s short but stocky, her spine curved slightly with age. She’s missing three fingers, and there’s a chunk missing out of her ear.

But she’s…

“You survived,” Steph says. “But… how? You look…”

The oldest Slayer on record was twenty-two years old.

But… Sineya was before recorded history, wasn’t she? No Watcher, no random destiny. She had chosen this for herself, gone into the cave, bathed in the darkness.

“I was ninety-seven when I died,” Sineya says. Her voice has layers to it—when she listens, Steph can hear other languages. Every single word she says is being said a hundred times over, in every language this First Slayer knows.

Which, Steph knows, instinctively, is every language _every _Slayer has ever known.

“Wow,” Steph whispers. “That’s amazing.”

Sineya smiles, proud, then reaches out and presses withered, ancient fingers against Steph’s cheek. She must have been beautiful in her youth, but even now, well into her nineties, there’s a solemnity and grace to her that demands attention.

“You did not choose this.”

Steph looks away. “No.”

“I am sorry,” Sineya says. “We… we did not realize, that consequence, when we bound this power. Destiny was not a word we had taken into account. All we wished for was survival, for power.”

“I saved the world,” Steph says, forcing a smile. “I guess… I guess it’s not so bad.”

“I cannot take this from you,” Sineya whispers. Her eyes are faded—she’s almost blind, if not completely. “But I can offer you this. A warning, and a gift.”

“Can I just—ask?” Steph asks, desperately. “Why _me_? Why did the Watchers miss me?”

“I don’t know your Watchers,” Sineya says, with a shrug. “But the magic goes where it is needed. To _whom _is needed. You, Stephanie Brown, from Los Angeles, to Gotham, were the one who was needed to solve these particular problems, in your particular way.”

She takes Steph’s hand in hers. “Here is your warning—the Demon’s Head has his eye upon you. He is an old, and powerful demon, but he is more than that. I cannot see everything he is, and that is… rare.”

“The Demon’s Head,” Steph repeats, nodding. “Okay. And?”

“Your gift,” Sineya says, and she gestures at the pool of darkness at their feet.

Steph stares at it, not comprehending. “What?”

“You made it here. You survived your tests, and the Powers have judged you worthy. If you wish, you can bathe here, and become stronger.”

Steph stares at the inky, terrifying darkness spread out all around her. “I—will it help? Will it… will it help me protect my friends? Will it mean I survive longer? Will it—will it change me?”

“It will change you,” Sineya acknowledges. “Power always changes things. And it might help with those other things, depending on how you use it.” 

Steph stares at it, a darkness so complete that she can’t even see the reflection of the moon in it. She reaches out and, cautiously, touches it with a finger.

The darkness clutches at her, greedily, and she feels… _something _rush through her, a heady, giddy desire to fight, to destroy. With this, she can do _anything_. She can protect her friends, she’ll never need to ask for help again. She can rip apart any monster with her bare hands, no one will be able to stop her, not even Cass or Bruce or—

She jerks her hand back, and the goo lets her go, breathing heavily.

There had been… it had been nothing _but _that feeling. It had so thoroughly eclipsed anything else. There was no concern, no love, no softness. There was strength, and power, and… the rest had been gone.

“I think I’m good,” she says, feeling sick and dizzy.

Sineya smiles at her, ancient and sad. “I’m glad.”

“What?”

“It is a gift. But gifts are not always a good thing.” Sineya rests her hands against the ancient sword, still glistening silver, even after all this time. “The Powers have led several Slayers here over the years. None have refused, before you.”

Steph looks over her shoulder.

“They needed to be strong, because there was no one for them to be soft for,” Sineya says, sadly. “They didn’t know the value of kindness. Of listening, of waiting. But you have learned it.”

Steph swallows, her mouth dry. “Did it—did it do that to you?”

Sineya looks thoughtful. “Yes and no. I did not already have a connection to it to draw me in. I was harder, after, of that I have no doubt. But I was not as effected as the later ones.”

Steph clenches her hands into fists, and stares across the pool of darkness. Then she forces herself to relax, and looks back at the First Slayer.

“Is there anything I can do for you? You must get lonely, here.”

Sineya laughs, the sound echoing through the cave, and filling Steph with a strange warmth that she doesn’t quite understand.

“I am always with you, Stephanie Brown. With you, and Cassandra Cain, and six thousand years of Slayers, I am never lonely.” She presses an ancient, dry kiss against Steph’s cheek. “But thank you, for asking.”

Steph turns and starts walking, back across the ancient blood of a long-dead demon.

This time, the blood moves away from her, and each step she makes is dry.

Right before she hits the wall of darkness, she glances over her shoulder, and Sineya is nowhere to be seen. All that’s left in the cave is a skeleton, and a sword made of stars.

* * *

Crystal Brown sits at her kitchen table, poking listlessly at her plate of waffles.

It’s yet another Saturday morning, stretching out in front of her without any end in sight.

There’s a knock on her door, and Crystal sighs and gets to her feet. It’s probably Bruce, or maybe Barbara or Richard, who stop in to check on her regularly and give her updates about their search for Steph.

But it’s not them.

Tanned and freckled, her hair bleached pale by the sun, her smile tentative and scared, is Steph.

“Hi Mom,” she says, before being cut off by Crystal’s immediate embrace.

“You’re home,” Crystal sobs. “You’re _home_.”

Steph reaches back and hugs her, her grip impossibly strong—how had she _ever _thought that this grip could be anything but magical?—and the two Brown women just stand there, in the doorway to their home, locked in a tight embrace for a long, long time.

* * *

It’s _horrible_.

She keeps _breaking the story. _

She keeps _ruining everything_.

She’s supposed to have _died_, way back in the first chapter, before that stupid blue-haired girl brought her back, and now there’s _two _Slayers, and _that’s not how things are supposed to work._

It all went wrong when the Red Hood got his soul back, that’s it. If he hadn’t had a soul, he’d have just let the Slayer die, maybe he’d have killed her himself, and that would have been a _much _better story. Better than all of the crying and speeches, better than extended fight scenes and friendship arcs.

She’s not even a _good _protagonist; now that Warlock Boy, _he’d _be a great one. Or even her Watcher, _he’s _got a backstory worth exploring. What’s she got, besides Daddy Issues and a pathetic crush?

None of the other Powers _care_, they’re all too busy whispering about humanity, paying attention to other things. Leslie is _helping _her, shepherding her to the First Slayer’s site, where she’s going to bathe in the darkness and become the strongest Slayer in three hundred years.

That won’t stand. Not at all.

He forces himself to examine the situation.

It’s easy call in old debts, to ensure that this horrible little town is wiped off the face of the world. Not yet, maybe, but soon enough.

But that won’t take care of the Slayer.

Hmm.

The Red Hood has been in hell for what on Earth has been seven weeks, but is, in the dimension where he is, has actually been seven hundred years. He’s been tortured and has seen the full extent and damnations of hell.

Any soul would crack under the weight of it.

Yes, the Red Hood will do nicely, even if his pesky soul is still there. Plenty of humans have souls, and they still go about doing their own thing, killing and hurting and torturing and all of the rest. What does a soul mean? Not a damn thing.

Of course, it’s not going to be easy to pull him _out _of hell.

He goes to the place where the statue was—the Watcher moved it and hid it, because he’s _sensible_, unlike that pathetic Slayer, who just _ran_, like the scared little girl that she is.

But even with moving, to his eyes, he can see the fissure in reality, where the portal opened, and then was closed. The skin between the worlds is thin, a gaping wound, ready to be exploited.

Grinning, he pulls back his fist, and smashes it against the walls of reality, once, twice, three times.

Jason Todd stumbles forward, out of the portal, wearing the clothes he’d worn when he had gone through, gasping for air, clutching his chest, where a sword is still imbedded, a twin to the sword in the statue, which his father has hidden away.

He yanks it out of his chest and lets it fall to the ground, falling over on his hands and knees, each breath that he doesn’t even _need _to take causing his entire body to shudder.

“Get up,” he orders. “I have a mission for you.”

Jason looks up, confused. “Who—”

“My name is Prime,” he says. “I am one of the Powers That Be. I am the one who pulled you out of hell, back into the world. And I have a job for you.”

Jason pushes himself back up onto his knees. “One of—one of the Powers?”

“Yes,” Prime says, crossing his arms. “Now listen, this tortured soul, vampire on the path to redemption thing was fun for about fifty years, but we’re all _over it _now. It’s too… YA. So I want you to get over yourself, stop your whining and brooding, and go back to the badass, Slayer-killing vampire you _really _are.”

“I—what?” Jason says, shaking his head.

“Ugh, you have no grasp of _narrative_,” Prime says. “Listen. You’re _wasted _as a sidekick. You’re a proper antagonist, so you need to get up, and go find that Brown girl, and _eat her_.”

Jason blinks slowly. “Steph?”

“_Yes_! Stephanie Brown, the Vampire Slayer, the annoying bitch who keeps _ruining the story_!” Prime says, throwing up his arms. “I need you to kill her, so we can move onto the _interesting _stuff.”

“You—want me to kill Steph?”

“What, are you stupid? That’s what I said!” Prime says.

Jason Todd stares at him.

Then he looks down at the ground, where the sword is lying, and he picks it up and gets to his feet. “Where—where is she?”

“She should be back at her mother’s house by now,” Prime says, turning slightly to point in the direction. “Leslie was protecting her from my sight, but now that she’s back in Gotham, she’s fair game, so you—”

He’s cut off by the sword going through his throat.

“Fuck you, and fuck your narrative,” Jason snaps, leaning against the wall for support as Prime falls to the ground, dead.

He then forces himself to stand upright, each movement agony, and starts to hobble out of the mansion.

A few seconds after he’s gone, Prime gets to his feet, the sword still through his throat. He waves his hand, impatiently, and the sword falls to the ground, covered in gleaming golden blood.

“Unfortunate,” he says, his lip curling. “I had such hopes for that arc.” He puts his hands in his pockets. “Oh well. I have other stories to work on.”

He vanishes into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't seen Buffy, Sineya is the name of the First Slayer from Buffy, only I've changed her backstory entirely, because I really hated the First Slayer storyline from canon. She's played by Sharon Ferguson, if you want to know what you're dealing with. 
> 
> Prime, meanwhile, if you didn't catch it, is Superboy Prime from the comics, who's an insufferable asshole who's meant to stand in for the worst part of comics fandom, who infamously punched the walls of reality and accidentally resurrected Jason in canon. It felt appropriate to bring him back for Jason's resurrection here. 
> 
> And yes, yes, fine, I promise I'll be nicer to Jason from here on out. :P
> 
> Hope you guys liked it!
> 
> ETA 4/14: theeffar over on Tumblr drew the art seen at the top of this chapter as a "cover" for arc 3 of this fic, and I'm super delighted to share it with all of you.


	7. wish i could slay your demons: part ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life seems to be going back to normal in Gotham. But a new danger is approaching, and Steph has a confession to make that can alter the course of the entire world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I managed to keep to my two-week update goal! Guess my anxiety about social distancing has to be good for something, and it might as well be propelling me through my word count goals. 
> 
> As you guys might have noticed, we've now got a chapter estimate! It's really just an estimate: I'm pretty sure we're looking at four parts again for this arc, and guessing it'll be four again for the next one, but it might go up, because really, this fic was supposed to be a one shot and this is now the longest thing I've ever written, so I think it's safe to say I've fully lost control over here. 
> 
> Warnings for this one: grief/mourning, kidnapping, violence, blood, parental abuse, and memory manipulation. Also, at one point Babs loses access to her wheelchair and has to be carried.

“We need a name,” Duke says, carefully examining the crossbow he’s carrying.

“We all have names,” Cass points out. She’s standing on one hand while Tim tries to balance a sword on her foot. “You’re Duke, I’m Cass—”

“Haha,” Duke says. “No, I mean like a _team _name. Like how our school is the Knights.”

“Ooh, are we coming up with code names?” Harper says, eyes lighting up. “I call Bluebird!”

“… that’s the least intimidating name _ever_,” Duke tells her flatly.

“Says you! I think it’s awesome.”

“Fine, then Tim can be _Robin_, if we’re doing a bird theme,” Duke says, eyes narrowed as he tries to call Harper’s bluff.

“I can work with that,” Tim says. “Like Robin Hood. What are you going with, Duke? How’s Lark sound?”

“Do we have to do birds?” Duke says. “I always thought The Signal sounds totally badass.”

“Nope,” Harper says. “You gave Tim Robin, you’re Lark. We’re sticking with the theme.”

“Listen, we can always workshop it later,” Tim says. “Hey Cass, what are you feeling?”

“Bat,” Cass says, her eyes closed.

“… a bat isn’t a bird, Cass.”

“Bat,” Cass insists.

“Ooh, I’ve got it,” Tim says, holding up his hand. “_Batgirl_. And then we can be… _Batgirl! And the Birds of Prey_!”

“… you know bluebirds, larks, and robins are just about the furthest thing from birds of prey that you can get, right?” Duke says.

“Batgirl is a cool name though,” Harper says, unwilling to completely betray Tim.

“What’s wrong with just Bat?” Cass says, not opening her eyes.

“Batgirl sounds like a superhero,” Tim says. “Which you totally are!”

“I’m the Slayer.”

“The Slayer is _like _a superhero,” Duke says. “C’mon Cass, you’re totally a superhero.”

“Hmm,” Cass says, but there’s a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Batgirl.”

“We’re not calling ourselves the Birds of Prey though,” Duke says to Tim.

“Why not?”

“Because _those aren’t birds of prey names, they’re songbirds_!”

“How about the Flock!” Harper says, flapping her arms dramatically. “Caw caw, mother—”

“The Flock? Really?”

“Nothing wrong with a flock of birds,” Harper says. “Stronger in numbers, overwhelming our enemies—”

“Did I miss an adventure where you guys got turned into birds, or is this a hypothetical conversation?” Steph’s voice says from behind them.

Cass falls over flat onto her back.

“Hey guys,” Steph says, awkwardly waving. “So… I’m back?”

* * *

There’s a lot of shouting, which yeah, Steph probably deserves. She left a note, but she _was _gone for longer than she necessarily expected.

But it is what it is, and they’re all glad to see her. At least, she surmises this from the vice-like grip that Cass has on her ribcage.

“Don’t do that again,” Cass says.

“I’ll try?” Steph says, because really, they’re in a pretty high-casualty profession, it’s not like she can promise that nothing will ever happen, as much as she might like.

She thinks about Sineya, with her grey hairs and wrinkles, and wishes, desperately, that it was still possible.

She’ll tell Cass all about Africa later—about the Slayers and the origins, about the things that Leslie said.

She’s not sure if she wants to tell Cass about the pool of darkness and power, about how she’d been given the chance to become stronger, about how she’d turned away from it.

Cass already thinks Steph is weak, thinks that Steph isn’t a proper Slayer. What would she say, if she knew that Steph had rejected a well of strength unlike any Slayer had been offered in… centuries, maybe, in favor of keeping this, the overwhelming joy in her heart at the sight of her friends, the feeling of them pressing against her?

Worse, would Cass hate her because Steph had been given that opportunity and Cass hadn’t?

Leslie had said things about Cass’s journey, how she wasn’t ready, but there’s no _way _that Cass will take that well. Cass is a better Slayer than Steph could ever hope to be, but, for some reason, Leslie thinks Steph is further along in her journey than Cass is. She’s got to be wrong, because Cass is _Cass_, and Cass is amazing and perfect and everything that a Slayer _should _be.

“We’ve got to go find Bruce,” Tim says, finally. “He and Babs and Dick have been looking for you _everywhere_, where have you _been_?”

“Ethiopia,” Steph says.

“… how did you get _there_?” Duke says.

“A powerful good demon said I needed to go on a spiritual journey in order to figure out my destiny.”

Harper looks offended. “If you don’t want to tell us—”

“… you’re being totally sincere, aren’t you?” Tim says, sounding vaguely dizzy.

“Yep,” Steph says. “Her name was Leslie. She wore fuzzy cardigans.”

“I—I don’t know what to do with this information?” Tim says.

“Neither do I,” Steph says, slinging an arm over Cass’s shoulder. “So, how long will Bruce yell at me for?”

“An hour,” Cass says immediately.

“I was thinking two,” Duke says.

“Split the difference, ninety minutes,” Harper says, nodding.

“I bet you can cut it down to seventy if you lead with the magic spiritual journey thing,” Tim offers.

“Oh this is going to _suck_,” Steph groans.

* * *

In the end, it’s sixty-five minutes, so Duke and Harper end up paying up to Cass and Tim, because Steph did indeed lead with Leslie, and that seemed to throw Bruce through a loop.

Bruce sighs. “I expect you to write up a full report on what you saw in Ethiopia. I’ll have to tell the Council about this.”

Steph frowns. “Wait, they don’t—”

“I’ve never heard of any connection between the Slayers and Ethiopia,” Bruce says. “And I’ve made it a point to study the history of Slayers. Our earliest records go back to the ninth century, although we know they go back further.”

“But—” Steph closes her mouth.

“As much as we might be loath to admit it,” Babs says, steepling her fingers together. “The Council doesn’t know _everything_. Not even about Slayers.”

“But I thought you guys have been around as long as Slayers!” Tim says, staring.

“Watchers have been,” Bruce says. “We have evidence of Watchers as long as we’ve had evidence of Slayers. The Council, however, is another story.”

“What’s the difference?” Duke says with a frown.

“Not much, honestly,” Dick says. “The Council’s just the latest form of things. It’s evolved, over the years.” He frowns. “What’s this version date back to, Queen Victoria?”

“Yes,” Bruce says with a nod. “She issued the Charter then. The one before that was re-issued by Oliver Cromwell, because he felt like it was important that the supernatural wasn’t the purview of the Crown.”

Steph wrinkles her nose. “Weird,” she says. “Politics.”

“Everything’s political, Stephanie,” Bruce says with a sigh.

“Sure,” Steph says, doubtful. “But that doesn’t mean I have to _like _hearing about a bunch of old rich people squabbling about who exactly gets to decide what city I die in.”

Bruce, Dick, and Babs all look guilty at that.

“You’ve already told your mother that you’re home?” Bruce says, clearly forcing a change of subject.

“My first stop,” Steph says, giving a thumbs up. “Hey, am I still expelled?”

“Tragically, it was discovered that Principle Cobblepot was embezzling, so he’s been fired,” Babs says, her glasses flashing ominously in the light, making her look like a supervillain from an anime. “And given that everyone has sworn up and down they were attacked by a guy in clown makeup, not by their friend, Principle Valley has decided you’re not expelled.”

“Oh. Well that’s cool.”

Bruce sighs. “You should go home, Stephanie. All of you should. It’s been a long night.”

The Flock-or-Birds of Prey-or dubiously named group of teenagers filters out slowly, with Steph lingering.

“Bruce?” Steph says, hesitating in the doorway, with the others out of hearing range. “Dick?”

Bruce looks up. “Yes, Stephanie?”

“Jason said he’s sorry. And that he loved you both.”

She turns and flees, just in time to avoid the tears that start to pour down Bruce’s face.

* * *

Jason stumbles out of the mansion.

Everything _hurts_, the weird golden blood is staining his hands, his head is full of pounding, swirling images, of memories of everything that he’s done, of the flickering heat of flames against his skin in the hell dimension.

He needs to find—he needs to warn—

Who?

He can’t—

“It’s him!”

“That’s impossible, we heard—”

“Who cares? Grab him! You know the boss will be interested in this.”

Hands—not human hands, but not the hands from hell, either—grab him, and he tries to fight, tries to run, but he’s too weak, and he’s not sure where he’d go, anyways, and the sun is rising, the painful rays starting to pour over the horizon.

So he gives up.

His limbs go limp, and he lets them pull him into the van with tinted windows, lets himself be thrown to the floor, and he only thinks to struggle again when the taser is pressed against his ribs and the electricity arcs through him, sending him into a deep, nightmare ridden darkness.

* * *

The motorcycle cuts across the quiet highway, the brightness of its headlight flashing in and out of sight faster than is safe for most people. Each turn taken is a pinpoint turn that should send the rider flying, each hill crested at a breathtaking speed.

In the darkness, the rider continues, comfortable in her solitude.

But despite the way that her riding defies nature and physics and gravity itself, even she cannot control the fact that the dial on her bike is telling her that she needs gasoline.

With an irritated flick of her wrist, she turns off the road, down a ramp, where neon lights and the repugnant smell promise the fuel that she will need to get to her destination.

Under the harsh fluorescent glow of the station’s shelter, the few men who are gathered around turn to stare.

Despite state laws, she is not wearing a helmet, nothing to protect her waist-length, pitch black hair from the elements, instead allowing it to whip around her as she pulls in. She is not particularly tall, but she holds herself in a way that makes her seem like a giant, her long black leather duster fluttering around her as she dismounts. Her mouth is curved with a disdain that seems almost elegant as she surveys the gas station, finds everything about it wanting, and then turns her attention back to her sleek, red motorcycle, still humming.

One of the men, braver, drunker, or more foolish than the rest, approaches her. “Never seen you around here before,” he says.

“You wouldn’t have,” she says, her voice clipped and brief, her accent speaking of the Midwest. “I’m just passing through.”

“Too bad,” he says, leaning forward. “It’s a nice town.”

She finally turns to look at him, her amber eyes flickering over him with a detached, appraising look.

“Oh?” She asks, her voice still disinterested.

“Yeah,” he says, taking a step towards her, proving once and for all that some men don’t know how to read signals. “The beach is gorgeous here.”

“Hmm,” she says, as he steps into her personal circle. “I doubt it can compare to the things that I’ve seen.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he says. “How will you know until you come see it?”

She sighs, replacing the nozzle back in the pump, then walking towards the store, as if to pay for her gasoline.

The man follows her, dogging her footsteps like a man confident in his ability to wear her down.

“Can I get you anything?” He says, darting in front of her to hold the door open. “Are you thirsty?”

“Yes,” she says, stepping past him, past the counter, into the rows of snacks and supplies.

“What do you want?” He says, following her away from the cashier’s line of sight. “My treat. I insist.”

“Hmm,” she says again, turning her eyes back towards him for the second time that night.

He takes a step back abruptly, seeing something different in her eyes, beyond that disinterested, dismissing look that he had been so interested in pushing past.

Now there’s something _dangerous _there, lurking behind her mask.

“Well,” she says, her face twisting into a demonic visage of wrinkles and fangs. “Since you offered.”

He doesn’t have time to scream. She’s too fast for that.

She leaves him among the aisles, next to the potato chips and candy bars. She picks up a candy bar she has no intention of eating and takes it with the man’s wallet up to the counter to pay for her gas.

The cashier is bored and doesn’t even notice that the man’s obnoxious gibbering has stopped. He scans her candy bar and punches in the number of the pump she filled from, barely even glancing at her, his eyes continuing to dart down towards his phone, not-quite hidden beneath the counter, where some sports game is playing.

It would be easy to kill him, but he isn’t worth her time. Humans rarely are.

She is so, so bored.

Immortality is boring, stretching on for endless stretches of time.

This is what so many humans had driven themselves to the brink for? The monotony of humanity, the blandness of their emotions?

She has not found a human worthy of turning in so long, has not had a battle worth fighting in almost as long.

The monotony of it all, the fact that it will continue and continue unless someone who delights in pain and suffering finally manages to trigger one apocalypse or the other, is nearly as infuriating as the snickers of the men, still gathered outside the gas station, waiting for their compatriot, who they assume has been rejected.

She pulls away from the gas station, her hair trailing behind her like a comet trail as she goes faster than any human would dare, and she finally finds herself smiling as she passes a sign, illuminated for only the briefest moment by her headlight.

GOTHAM CITY

5 MILES.

_Finally_, a challenge.

* * *

Senior year means a lot of things—Homecoming, college applications, quotes for the yearbook—but most horrifyingly of all, it means the ACTs and SATs.

“You don’t have to take both,” Bruce says, handing her the practice booklet.

“Given how likely it is that I’ll miss one of them due to Slayer-age, I think it’s better safe than sorry,” Steph gripes, flipping it open.

“Well, Babs has been tutoring Duke at my place in the evenings, and Cass has volunteered to increase patrols, so you’ll have plenty of time to study,” Bruce assures her. He pauses, looking at the pile of boxes next to her. “What are those?”

“Candy bars,” Steph says with a sigh. “Mandatory fundraiser. We need to sell forty of them to buy textbooks.”

“Textbooks?”

“There was a thingy on the ballot to increase property taxes so we could buy them normally, but apparently people don’t like taxes or students having an education, so no-go,” Steph says. “So we’re selling candy.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I can’t understand this system,” he mutters.

“And that’s how you can tell you were a private school kid,” Steph tells him. “What were you even like as a kid? I bet you were a perfect little angel. Wearing suits and following orders and—”

“Stephanie,” he says, exasperated. “I was going to say I’ll buy those off you.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not exactly going to say no to that. Only Mom already bought half, so you only get twenty candy bars.”

“I can live with that,” Bruce says. “I’ll even take the rest of them over, if you want. Your mother and I are meeting to work on your and Cassandra’s schedules.”

Steph pauses in flipping to the next page in her practice book. “Really?”

He sighs. “Really. Stephanie, I want you to succeed. I want you to go to college, if that’s what you decide you want. I want you to have a good life.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “I can’t protect you from everything. But I can make sure that, at the very least, you have people in your corner.”

Steph smiles at him. “Thanks Bruce,” she says, softly.

He picks up the candy. “I’ll go talk to your mother now. When you’re done studying, patrol the St. Cloud cemetery’s recent burials. I expect it’ll be a quiet night.”

Steph nods, and goes back to her math.

* * *

_Three hours later_

“Oh my _God_,” Steph says, shoving a seventeen-year-old Crystal Brown, a seventeen-year-old Bruce Wayne, an eight-year-old Dick Grayson, and a twelve-year-old Barbara Gordon into the car. “Get in the car, buckle in, oh my _God_, this is a _disaster_—”

“You’re not in charge of me,” Bruce says, glowering at her, radiating teenage angst and anger issues. “You’re the _Slayer_, that means that your _Watcher’s _in charge—”

“You’re such a—no offense, Dick,” Steph says, getting into the driver’s seat, with a very anxious looking Harper already in the passenger seat.

“Please tell me Tim’s found a cure, or at least a_ location_, because I just saw my teenaged mom and equally teenaged Watcher making out while sitting on a police car, I’m _scarred for life_,”

“Yep, it’s a distribution center,” Harper says. “I’ve got the GPS going, just—try not to crash?”

“On it,” Steph says, gritting her teeth.

“Where’s my dad?” Babs says, which is, admittedly, a pretty sensible question for someone who’s twelve to be asking. “Who _are _you people?”

“I’m the Slayer!” Steph yells, turning the corner sharper than she would normally, because what looks like a child version of her science teacher running around with a dart-gun, screaming obscenities.

“What’s a Slayer?” Dick Grayson asks.

“Aren’t you Watchers?” Harper says, confused.

“Don’t be stupid,” Bruce says. “They’re _American_.”

“_You’re _American!” Steph feels obligated to point out.

“I’m adopted. And a special circumstance,” Bruce says, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s _dreamy,_ that’s what it is,” teenaged Crystal says, looking like she’s seriously considering resuming making out with Bruce again, even though Steph had specifically placed Dick between them to prevent exactly that.

Bruce preens, and Steph sighs. “So someone drugged the candy to make everyone younger? Is this what we’re looking at?”

“Looks like it,” Harper confirms, still looking at Bruce out of the corner of her eye. “Some sort of fountain of youth spell? Maybe?”

“I doubt we’d be so lucky,” Steph says, finally pulling up to the building. “Keep an eye on them!” She takes off towards the big double doors.

A tall, broad, white man in dress slacks and a buttoned up shirt with the sleeves rolled up is smoking a cigarette while bragging on his phone call about how the town is totally vulnerable, so Steph at least knows how to punch.

“Oh, you must be the Slayer,” the man says, lowering his phone when she approaches him. “I’ve heard you were around.” He grins. “I always love that the Council sends children to get their work done for them.”

“Maybe that’s all you merit,” Steph says sweetly.

“Oh please,” the man scoffs. “You’re outmatched, little girls.”

“Tommy?” Bruce calls. “What are you doing?”

“Damn, he’s at his most infuriating age, isn’t he?” “Tommy” says, something strange and red glowing in his hands. “Oh well. It won’t be quite as satisfying to kill you in front of him at this age—”

Steph punches him in the throat.

One curb-stomp and one spell reversal later, Bruce is an adult again eying the man distastefully.

“And here I heard the Council had locked you up,” Bruce says, his clothes rumpled, but somehow it didn’t diminish the look of extreme loathing and distaste.

“Ah, c’mon _Dark Knight_,” Tommy says. “You should know better than to think they’d waste a resource like me.”

“What, a third-rate warlock?” Bruce says, eyebrow raised.

Tommy bares his teeth. “You didn’t think I was third rate when you were _that _age,” he says.

“When I was that age, I also believed you were a good man,” Bruce says. “I was mistaken on multiple accounts.”

“Aw, hush now,” Tommy says, smirking, but the effect is diminished by the fact that he’s missing teeth. It had been very satisfying to dislodge them, Steph has to admit. “No need to get snippy in front of the children.”

“Can I punch him again? He’s _so _punchable,” Steph says. Dick is carrying Babs, because when she had left the library, she hadn’t needed her wheelchair so, she didn’t have it with her. Crystal is holding the door of the van open, and Babs’s face is blank fury at the situation. “He deserves it.”

“Probably. But you shouldn’t. Go help Babs. I’ll take care of Mr. Elliot.”

“_Doctor_,” he insists. “It’s—”

Steph leaves, and the next day, Bruce tells her that Dr. Thomas Eliot, a dangerous warlock with Watcher training, has been taken into custody by the Watcher’s Council.

She doesn’t ask any more questions.

_Especially _not about what he and her mother had been up to before she had found him.

* * *

Jason struggles into consciousness, his stomach heaving, despite being empty.

A cool cloth is placed on his head.

“Shh,” a voice whispers. “Rest.”

He’s lying on a mattress somewhere, scratchy sheets like needles against his skin. Everything is hot and sensitive and _pain_, and he gasps, sick with the pain and the nausea.

“Bruce—” He calls, his voice scratchy with disuse.

“All will be well,” the voice says. Hands press against his shirt, trying to keep him lying down. 

“Who—where am I?” He says, forcing his eyes open. He sees a single, bare bulb, swaying in some breeze that he can’t feel against his skin, sees a blurry form leaning over him, sees windows papered over to keep the deadly sunlight out. “Who—”

“Jason, you’re not well,” a woman says, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “Drink.”

She presses a cup against his lips, and he drinks greedily.

The blood is human, and fresh, and a part of him recoils, wondering where it came from, but the rest of him takes over, and he is _hungry_. He can feel the life flowing back into him, giving his limbs a little more strength, giving him a little more of his voice back, and when he opens his eyes as the cup lowers, he recognizes the woman kneeling by his bedside, holding the ceramic cup.

Talia al Ghul, wearing a loose flowing white shirt and a long, pleated skirt, looks tired and unhealthily thin, dark circles resting beneath her eyes like bruises. He’s never seen her like this, but there is no mistaking her for anyone else.

Seeing her, it all flows back to him. Reconciling with Bruce in a kitchen, gasping for air that he doesn’t need, Steph’s hurt face, Jack Drake’s panic, a cigarette, lit in a graveyard—

“Talia—” he grips her sleeve, even though his fingers are so weak that he thinks they might snap. “He knows, I told him about Steph, about her baby—”

“I know,” Talia says, and he thinks he sees a tear fall down her face, tracing the curve of her cheek. “It’s taken care of. I promise.”

Relieved, even though he has no idea what she could possibly mean, Jason lets go of her sleeve and falls back onto the pillows, back into the oblivion of sleep.

* * *

Cass can still feel it, rolling beneath her skin, so close to the surface.

The darkness. The essence of a Slayer.

She can feel her father’s hands on her shoulders, guiding her into the darkness, showing her how to command it, to pull it into herself to make her stronger, faster, better than any other Slayer had ever been.

It had saved her life, back when she had fought the Joker, when her limbs had been heavy and useless under his gaze, when his nails had sliced through her skin, and her blood had poured out freely.

It had changed her, changed her blood. It had been viscous and dark, flowing sluggishly through her veins, and that was the only reason she still lived, the only reason why the next Slayer wasn’t being called to Gotham to continue the work.

How can she hate it, this darkness, when it has done that for her?

It’s strange, realizing that, despite everything she has been raised to do, everything she knows about herself and her own destiny… this realization, that she doesn’t, in fact, want to die.

She wants to live. She has made mistakes, but she… she wants to be the Slayer. She wants to keep living, wants to keep fighting by Stephanie’s side, wants to keep doing puzzles with Duke and keep studying with Tim and listening to Kon’s band and helping Harper with her research.

She has never wanted anything so badly before. She was not raised to want. She was raised to be the perfect Slayer, was raised to be her father’s loyal soldier, his honed and sharpened weapon. Despite all of his bragging and boasting, there had never been a guarantee that she would be Called. It was a random process, and there were hundreds, if not thousands of Potentials all over the world, and plenty of girls like Stephanie, who were never identified by the Council, besides that.

But he had been right, somehow, either through sheer luck or something darker, and now Cass is the Slayer.

_A _Slayer.

There has never been a Slayer who was not the only one, before.

Cass is the only Slayer who has never truly been alone, except for those few, awful weeks when Steph was in Ethiopia.

Steph has told her all about it; about the first Slayer, the pool of darkness, the battle against a demon-god.

Steph hadn’t said, but Cass knows something changed in her while she was gone. Seeing the pool, speaking to the spirit of the First… it changed.

Stephanie feels stronger, more present, than she ever has before.

She is not strong like Cass—the darkness does not flood her veins with the power, a power that Cass now knows is that of a creature whose skull still resides in a cave in Ethiopia.

A power that a girl named Sineya had embraced to save her people, a power that Cass had been thrown into by her father, a power in which Cass is desperately swimming.

She nearly tells Stephanie this, when the other Slayer sits besides her and describes Sineya to her; a woman, so old that it has to be a lie, eyes dark and ancient and powerful, a smile full of kindness and wisdom.

The confession presses against her teeth, bubbling under her tongue, but she bites down and forbids it from escaping.

Even Steph can’t understand. She stood in front of the pool of power, she saw into the darkness, and still, Cass _knows _she can’t understand, what this power means. What Cass did to get it.

So Cass closes her eyes and tries to tame the roar of the darkness within her, and she says nothing to Stephanie Brown about it.

* * *

By now, Steph knows the cemeteries and back roads of Gotham better than she does her own bedroom.

St. Cloud Cemetery, where Jason’s old crypt was, is the hardest to visit, but she still forces herself to patrol it, passing through the recent graves, searching for any signs of disturbances.

She’s patrolling with Harper today; Cass and Duke are on the other side of town, while Tim and Kon are having date night.

Bruce texts Steph, asking for an update.

“Harper, get over here!” Steph calls.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“Nope,” Steph says, snagging her arm around Harper’s shoulder. “Say cheese!” She snaps a selfie, angling the phone so that the graveyard is visible in the background, and then immediately texts it to Bruce. “Bruce wanted a check-in.”

“So you’re… sending him a selfie?”

“Oh yeah,” Steph says. “If he _really _wants, he can track me on Snapchat.”

“… Bruce has Snapchat?”

“Oh well, he thinks it’s the _worst _but Jason—” Steph pauses for a moment, and Harper watches as the realization hits. She knows that grief, that kind of subtle, sneaking up kind that makes you feel bad for having fun, because they’re _dead_, and how _dare you_. But Steph must know that grief as well, because she forces a grin onto her face, and keeps going. “Jason and I stole his phone and installed the app.”

“He probably just uninstalled it,” Harper points out.

“Nope!” Steph says, looking incredibly satisfied with herself. “He checks my story. I haven’t told him I can tell.”

Harper opens her mouth, and then closes it again. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yep!” Steph says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Harper’s throat grows a bit tight, and she forces herself to look away.

It’s not her fault that Stephanie Brown is unfairly gorgeous, that her smile is perfect, that her hair manages to look great even when she’s splattered with blood and gore, that she’s sweet and _nice _and—

Absolutely, positively, heterosexual, Harper reminds herself.

“Harper!” Steph calls, and Harper looks up, just in time to see a vampire barreling towards her.

Harper throws herself onto the grass, feeling it stain her jacket, while Steph cartwheels forward, her stake in her hand.

“You okay?” Steph says, helping her up. There are callouses on her palms, tiny splinter scars across her fingertips from making stakes, and Harper just wants to hold her hand forever.

But Steph withdraws it once she’s up, and Harper is reminded yet again, that crushing on Stephanie Brown is a horrible idea.

“I’m fine,” Harper says. “Although I’m going to have to do an extra load of laundry this week.”

“Hey, at least it’s not blood!” Steph laughs, her head tilting to one side. “Mom and I are _still _trying to get that demon ichor out of my favorite jeans.”

“Is it better? With her knowing?”

“Easily,” Steph says. “It’s—I missed her, you know? She wasn’t gone or anything, but when I was talking to her, she wasn’t _listening_, not really.” She shrugs. “It’s not perfect now, or anything—there are still things I’m not telling her—”

“Like what?” Harper says, curious. “I thought she’s being understanding about the monsters and things, and she and Bruce are even working on your schedule.”

Steph looks like she’s hesitating for a moment.

“C’mon Steph,” Harper says, cajoling. “You know you can tell me anything.”

Steph’s expression turns soft and fond, and Harper’s heart speeds up in her chest.

“I—okay.” Steph says, straightening her shoulders. “You’re right. You’re my friend. I can tell you anything.”

Harper grins at her, expecting—something about Ethiopia, maybe, or one of those prophetic dreams she has that she doesn’t like talking about—

“I have a crush on Cass.”

—not that.

“What?” Harper says.

“I—I’ve got a—I like Cass,” Steph says, her smile fading, nervousness pouring in.

“I—but—you’re gay?” Harper says, floundering—and she _knows better_, she’s done this before, she’s talked with Tim and Cullen and half a dozen kids at school through this, through coming out, she should be _better _than this.

“Uh,” Steph looks more and more uncomfortable. “Bi. I think. I mean I’m not sure, at first, I was thinking it was a Slayer thing, but I’m… I’m pretty sure? I mean I guess I haven’t really looked into all of the labels—”

Harper, panicking, does the only thing she can think of.

She hugs Steph tightly.

“I’m happy for you,” she says, hooking her chin over Steph’s shoulder so Steph can’t see that Harper’s eyes are watering.

Because she is! This is great, this is wonderful, another person has figured themselves out, and that’s _always _a good thing.

Steph isn’t straight. Steph has a crush on a girl.

And it’s not Harper.

* * *

_The Slayer is a young woman, her hair dyed a brilliant shade of red so strong that he can smell it in the air, even as her fear radiates off her. _

_Her Watcher lies dead in a pool of blood, and he moves towards her, savoring the way she scrambles for her weapons, tries to remember that she’s supposed to stand up and fight, but without her Watcher, she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know if she should run or stand her ground. _

_She’s not a bad Slayer. She’s lived, oh, six months or so, so she’s probably killed a hundred vampires, stopped an apocalypse or two, maybe even rewritten a law of magic or two. _

_But she’s not good enough to stop him. _

_He lets his face come out as he takes another step towards her, and she panics, going for the crossbow rather than the stake. _

_Her Watcher can’t have been very good, if he’s taught her to rely on her distance weapon against someone like him. _

_He closes the gap before she can get more than one shot off. _

_He doesn’t play with his food. _

_“Please!” She cries out, before he breaks her neck. _

_The Red Hood traces her face, impressed by the scarring, at everything this little Slayer must have survived, and then he places his mouth against her neck and he—_

“Drink, Jason, _drink_,” the voice says, and he does, opening his mouth and letting the blood pour into him, giving him strength enough to open his eyes again, and when consciousness comes, he pushes away Talia’s arm.

“No—” he says. “Not—”

“You _must _drink,” she says, her face stubborn.

“Not—human—”

“It’s mine, foolish boy,” she says, smoothing down his hair. “Human blood restores you better than an animal’s, and you need it badly.”

“But—”

“You dream of Slayers, of Potentials,” Talia tells him. “Your body craves blood with magic in it. My blood is not that of a Slayer, or even a Potential, but I _am _a witch.”

“But—”

“I work with enough demons and the like that I set it aside at reasonable intervals.” Talia’s face is stern, but fond. “You’re not drinking any more than I can give.”

Wjth his arguments gone, he clumsily takes the cup from him and drinks again.

“How long?”

“Weeks,” she says.

“Bruce?”

“I’ll get you to him as soon as I can,” she says. “I promise.”

He hands her the cup again. “How did you know—about the dreams?”

“You talk in your sleep,” she says, guiding him back down. “You’re getting stronger, Jason. I promise, you’ll be home soon.”

He believes her, and he lets the darkness take hold of him again.

* * *

There’s a new girl at school.

Everyone talks about her, the words buzzing through the school like idle chatter, but Harper ignores it, pushing through everything, trying hard not to…

Well, she’s not sure _what _she’s trying not to do. Cry, maybe? That seems reasonable, and maybe she would if she wasn’t at school.

But as it is, she’s at school, and Steph keeps giving her looks that are very concerned, and Tim has a look that’s just a _little _too knowing, which makes Harper wonder if Steph’s told him, because _Harper _certainly hasn’t.

In history class, Harper can’t focus, even though it’s Ms. Bertinelli, who’s the best teacher _ever_, and who Harper would normally die for.

She just keeps staring up at the front of the class, where Steph is sitting, the wave of blonde hair hiding Steph’s face from her view, and she just keeps _wishing_.

“Harper? I was wondering if you could show your new student around today,” Ms. Bertinelli says after class finally ends. Her lips are angled in a slight frown, which means she’s probably aware that Harper hadn’t absorbed a single thing from today’s discussion about the effect of colonization on the Pacific Islands.

“Sure,” Harper says, shrinking a little under that gaze. Ms. Bertinelli is six feet all, coaches the softball team, and, if the rumor mill is to be believed, has muscles of pure steel. Disappointing her is, in fact, every student’s nightmare.

“Carrie,” Ms. Bertinelli says. “This is Harper. She’ll show you around today.”

Carrie is short, with her bright red hair in a pixie cut, cartoonishly large blue eyes, and gigantic 80s style glasses. She’s cute, in a kind of way that makes her look like she fell out of a period romantic comedy. Even her clothes seem a little… off, from the wide shoulders of her jacket to the bright, neon green of her pants. She’s wearing a necklace, a long golden cord with a green stone dangling around it, and she tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket, beaming at Harper.

“Nice to meetcha,” she says, and Harper half-expects her to blow a bright pink bubble and pop it. She follows Harper into the hallway. “Sorry to end up hanging off you like this; it seems like you’re having a rough day.”

“You have no idea,” Harper says. “Mind if I stop by my locker? I need to grab my Calculus book for Mr. Dent’s class.”

“Sure thing!” Carrie says agreeably, flashing her teeth in a bright, cheerful grin. “So, you’re a senior?”

“Yeah,” Harper says. “You?”

“Same,” Carrie says, fiddling with her necklace.

“Where did you transfer from?” Harper says, forcing herself to not stare down the hallway, where she’s heard a burst of Steph’s distinctive laugh. “It’s—it’s gotta suck to transfer in during senior year.”

“I’m from Gotham, originally,” Carrie says. “It’s… I don’t know. Guess it’s nice to be home.”

“I bet,” Harper agrees, distractedly.

Math class is worse than history class, only this time, Carrie is at her elbow the entire time, and whenever Harper catches herself staring at Steph, who is doodling and looking out the window, she thinks she can feel Carrie looking at _her_.

“Who’s that girl?” Carrie asks, after class. Steph has already run off—she’s got to drop something off for Bruce, or something.

“Who?” Harper says, deflecting.

“The blonde. You keep looking at her.”

“I—just a friend.”

“Yeah, but… what’s her name?”

“Steph,” Harper says, her throat heavy. “She’s Steph.”

“Huh,” Carrie tilts her head to one side, thoughtfully. “So why do you keep looking at her like she murdered your puppy?”

“She didn’t—it’s not her fault,” Harper says.

“Well, that doesn’t mean she didn’t murder your puppy,” Carrie says, fiddling with that necklace of hers again. “What did she do?”

They’re alone in the classroom now, and Harper probably should be trying to focus, get them to Psych with Mr. Strange, but…

“She broke my heart,” Harper says, finally.

“Oh damn,” Carrie flinches sympathetically. “That sucks.” She pauses, looking thoughtful, and pulls her necklace off. “Here. I think you need this.”

“What?” Harper takes it, noticing with surprise how heavy the stone is.

“It’s a good luck charm,” Carrie says. “Someone gave it to me years ago, when I felt like you did now. Like… like I’d do anything in the world to stop the hurt, you know? When everything was about how I could have avoided it, what could have changed the path of history.” Carrie grins at her, shyly. “It sucks, I know it does. But… I think it’ll help.”

Harper laughs, and puts on the necklace. “Hey, I’ve heard of weirder things.”

Carrie’s smile is wide and blinding and Harper feels something strange twinging in her stomach.

They go to Pysch, and then Carrie ends up joining Harper and her friends for lunch. They’re eating outside today, so Cass joins them, and Harper _watches _as Steph’s face lights up with pure _joy _when she sees Cass, and Harper has to turn away, something hot and bitter and angry welling up in her throat.

“What’s wrong?” Carrie says. “We can go sit somewhere else if you want.”

“My friends are _there_,” Harper snaps. “I’m not going to avoid my own _friends _because _she’s _there!”

“But she hurt you,” Carrie says, her eyes so, so wide behind her comedy glasses.

“Yeah but—” Harper realizes she’s crying, and she quickly raises her sleeve to scrub them away. “God, sometimes… my life’s gotten so much more _complicated_ since she showed up.”

“Oh?” Carrie whispers, and something about the way that she says it means that Harper doesn’t _care _anymore, and she lets the words just flow.

“Everything’s different and dangerous and now I can’t even sit next to my best friends at lunch without wanting to cry and I—sometimes I just wish Steph had never _come _to Gotham!”

Carrie reaches up and touches Harper’s face, and Harper stares at her, realizing in horror that her eyes are glowing.

“Done,” she says, and Harper screams.

* * *

Harper is standing in the courtyard, only there’s no one else here.

“Harper?” Tim says, and she turns, frowning in confusion. He looks smaller, somehow, like he’s doubled over himself, and he’s wearing a bland grey sweater, rather than Kon’s bomber jacket that Tim likes to steal.

“Tim?” She repeats.

“I thought you stopped dying your hair?” He says, gripping her arm. “You _know _it attracts attention, it’s—”

“Tim, I’m fine,” Harper says, frowning at the frantic expression on his face. “What’s—”

“We need to get inside,” he insists, and she lets him drag her there, frowning.

Everything’s different, inside. Lockers are ripped open, hanging off their hinges, and there are… there are so many fewer students, and the ones who remain are pale and terrified, wearing bland colors, staring at Harper, with her blue hair, with terrified expressions.

“Tim?” Harper says, quietly. “Where’s Duke?”

Tim stares at her. “They got him two years ago, Harper,” he says. “You know that—we were at the funeral.”

Harper feels her stomach drop out from under her.

She thinks about Carrie, thinks about the glowing eyes, thinks about that stupid, _stupid _wish, and she knows exactly what’s happened.

The library is abandoned, and none of the right books are there, because why would Bruce become a librarian if there wasn’t a Slayer? Crap, she’s really screwed this up.

Duke is gone, Tim doesn’t know anything, there’s no sign of Cass, Kon is missing…

Harper takes a guess, and breaks into Bruce’s apartment.

A crossbow nearly goes through her shoulders.

“I’m human!” She yells.

Bruce emerges from the shadows, tall and with a bad case of scruff, with the circles under his eyes as dark as bruises.

“Who are you?” He demands.

“I’m Harper Row!” She says. “I’m from an alternate world!”

He lowers his crossbow and looks at her considering.

“Tell me what happened,” he orders.

So she tells him; tells him about Steph, about their friends, about the Bat Kids, as Duke had declared them, about Carrie and her weird eyes and her necklace, and then she shows him the necklace as proof.

“A Wish Demon,” Bruce says, grimly. “They find people who are upset and hurting, and use their wishes to create new versions of history. Usually for the worse.”

“No kidding,” Harper says, staring at that creepy green stone dangling from Bruce’s fingers.

“You say the Slayer’s name is Stephanie Brown?”

Harper nods.

Bruce closes his fist over the stone. “I’ll make some calls.” He looks at the clock. “Board up the windows, it’s almost sunset, and I’m expecting there will be retribution tonight.”

“Retribution?” Harper says.

Bruce smiles grimly. “I staked the Black Mask’s second-in-command last night.”

“Who… who was it?”

Bruce shrugs. “Some teenager. I didn’t catch his name.”

Harper shivers. She doesn’t like this Bruce, with his empty house and his beard. She goes to do what he says.

* * *

This world is _wonderful_.

Carrie wraps her jacket tightly around herself—her new, sleek leather jacket that Harper was wearing earlier that day—and wanders through the streets without fear.

Harper Row’s wish was _so much _stronger than she’d expected. One girl arriving in Gotham had done _this_? How was this _possible_?

Carrie had selected Harper because of the delicious teenaged heartbreak. It wasn’t meant to be anything serious, just a quick world change to fill her quota for the month.

But this… with _this_, she might be able to fill her quota for the _decade_.

The Hellmouth below her feet is open, and all the darkness pours out of it like a beautiful fountain of death and chaos…

Oh yes, her bosses will be very happy with this one.

She hums to herself, and goes to investigate the heart of all of this.

It’s that dancing place that the teenagers of this town love so much; _The Cave_, or some nonsense like that.

The world hasn’t settled yet; the wish too new, and as such Carrie slips through unnoticed, not real herself yet in this beautiful world.

A vampire lounges in a hideously convoluted chair that’s meant to look like a throne, drinking blood out of a wine glass.

Duke Thomas, one of Harper Row’s friends, a vampire, stands behind him, in a position of power as he learns forward to whisper in the Black Mask’s ear.

Hundreds of vampires drink and fight and dance throughout the club, blood flowing freely from a source that she can’t see. Towards the far wall, away from the Black Mask’s throne, a version of that Red Hood boy that Harper’s heard so much about sprawled on the ground, bound with blessed silver chains, all of his precious blood leaking out of his nose while the vampires around him cheer.

She tilts her head, examining him, and sees that he still has his soul. That must have made him quite a few enemies. And now, he’s paying the price.

This world is _wonderful_. Her bosses will be so very pleased. Maybe she’ll even get time off her contract for it.

Satisfied, she goes to find Harper Row, so she can retrieve her necklace and seal the wish in place.

* * *

Bruce Wayne is a man who’s lost everything. He lost Jason when the Hellmouth opened, Barbara and Dick when the Council declared Gotham a lost cause. He lost any sway with the Council when he wasn’t able to locate the Potential he’d been sent to Gotham to find.

He has no allies in this doomed town, no one except possibly the exhausted teenager passed out on his couch. That’s at least in part by choice—for now, the Black Mask seems content to lounge, to drink the town dry, gathering his strength from the Hellmouth.

Talia’s spell was holding, at least. Her sacrifice had not been _entirely _in vain, even if it had failed to prevent Mask from opening the Hellmouth at all.

He forces himself to call Clark, the number familiar.

“Bruce?” Clark’s voice says, surprised. “What are you—”

“Is the Slayer there?”

“I—yes. But Bruce—”

“Find her Watcher, tell her that we need the Slayer in Gotham, immediately.”

“Bruce—”

Bruce turns the wish stone over in his hand.

“The barrier is cracking, Clark,” he says. “The world is going to end.”

He hands up the phone.

* * *

Harper Row is not in her home. Frowning, Carrie walks over the unconscious body of Cullen Row, who’s clinging to a crossbow like it’s a teddy bear.

Where would she have gone? Perhaps she’s still at school.

Carrie sighs, when she realizes the sun is rising. She hasn’t rested in a week and granting this wish had cost her a lot of energy.

Well, one more day between won’t hurt anything, Carrie decides, before going to find an abandoned house to make a nest in.

* * *

Steph crosses her arms tightly over her chest, and slinks low.

“Why are we leaving Metropolis?” She asks.

“End of the world, baby girl,” Arthur Brown says. His face is a mess of scars, from the time that Steph had tried to throw him out the window, before she had been taught better. “You’re going to be a proper Slayer.”

Which means die.

“Oh,” Steph says. “Can I—can I call Mom?”

He rolls his eyes, and sighs, digging his cellphone out of his pocket, and handing it to her.

Steph calls, and presses herself as far as she can against the door of the vehicle, even though it makes no difference.

“Steph? It’s not Wednesday!” Mom’s voice is terrified.

“We’re—we’re leaving Metropolis. Just for a little bit. Dad said I could call.”

“Why—where are you going? Steph, baby, don’t do anything dangerous—”

“I’ll see you soon, Mom,” Steph says, even though it’s a lie, it’s always a lie, but it’s a lie she _needs _to tell herself. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Crystal says, before Arthur yanks the phone out of her hands.

“You two always go on forever,” he complains, before putting it back in his pocket.

Steph’s fists clench at her sides.

She’s stronger than him. She’s so much stronger than him, she could put his face through the windshield, break his nose against the steering wheel, shatter his wrist with a simple flex of her hand.

… but then she’d never get to see Mom again. She’d never find her, she knows this, she’s _tried_.

And Mom had paid for it. Mom always pays for Steph’s mistakes.

She pulls her jacket up as high as she can make it, and pretends to go to sleep, leaning against the rattling car window.

* * *

Harper wakes with a crick in her neck from sleeping on the couch.

“Have you found anything on Wish Demons?” She asks.

“No,” Bruce says. “I went hunting last night.” She sees the crossbow leaning against the door, sees a row of stakes lined up on the table.

“You did?” Harper says. “But I thought you were a Watcher!”

“Not much use Watching when there’s no Slayer,” Bruce says, his voice practically a growl. “I’m one of the only defenders this town has, besides that van full of suicidal kids.”

Harper’s heart leaps to her throat. “Kids?”

“They call themselves the Robin Gang,” he says. “They’re untrained, only getting themselves killed.”

“Then why aren’t you helping them?” Harper says, confused. “If they’re willing to fight—you’ve got weapons, you’ve got information, you could be—”

“I work alone,” Bruce snarls.

“You do?” Harper blinks. “But what about Jason?”

He freezes in place.

“You know about Jason?”

Harper frowns. “Well, yeah? He was my friend.”

Bruce turns to look at her slowly. “Was?”

“He—he died. Saving the world.” Having a moment of inspiration, Harper takes her phone out of her pocket. It still has some charge, even though she hadn’t charged it last night. She pulls up a photo she sent herself ages ago, one of Jason and Steph, making faces behind Bruce’s back. She shows it to Bruce.

Bruce stares at it for a long, painful moment, before turning away. “I see,” he says, his voice so soft she has to strain to hear it.

“What happened—”

There’s a hammering at the door.

“Wayne! Listen, you night crawling freak, if it’s not the end of the world I’ll let my Slayer break every bone in your body!” An unfamiliar voice calls.

Bruce glowers. “Brown.”

“Wait—Brown?” Harper says, something horrific settling in to her skin.

But Bruce doesn’t notice her terror, opening the door, and Harper stares in terror as she sees a man that Steph never talks about, tall and broad and blond, standing next to what looks like a beaten down, exhausted version of Stephanie Brown.

Her hair has been roughly chopped to her shoulders, and there are scars on her face, neck, and hands. Her eyes are sunken into her face, and she looks for all the world like there’s no spark left in her.

“What’s this about the end of the world?” Brown says, dragging Steph into the house by the shoulder, which she takes without protest. “You know we’ve got a goddamn _Hellmouth _in Metropolis to deal with, right? I’d like to see you—”

“The Gotham Hellmouth has been _open _for eighteen months, Brown,” Bruce says, fury radiating from him. “As I’ve reported to the Council _multiple times_.”

Brown looks unconcerned about that. “So, what do we need to close it? Virgin sacrifices? Blood of babies? We’re a bit short on both of those, aren’t we kid?” He elbows Steph, and for a moment, Harper sees _rage _flare up in Steph’s eyes, before she quickly realizes Harper’s looking, and looks down at the floor.

Bruce looks like he’d like nothing better than to put Brown’s forehead through the table. “We have a Wish Demon in the area.”

“What, and you want to make a Wish? Change the world?” Brown snorts. “You can’t make a Wish Demon choose you, Wayne, you’ve got to be the exact right cocktail they’re looking for—”

“I know,” Bruce says. “But, on the other hand, I have reason to believe that this apocalypse is the result of a Wish.”

“What?” Brown says, staring at Bruce.

“I made a wish,” Harper says. “I think—I think that started it, somehow.”

“Yeah?” Brown says, snorting. Steph, meanwhile, has lifted her head enough to examine Harper, as if trying to decide if she’s a threat. It’s a terrifying look to be on the receiving end of, even if it’s from this weirdly quiet, subdued version of her friend. “What did you wish for, little girl? Your toy pony back?”

Harper nearly tells him exactly where he can shove his questions, but Bruce gives her a _look_, so she straightens up.

“I wished that the Slayer had never come to Gotham,” she says.

“What, a different Slayer?” Brown says, frowning.

“No,” Harper says. “Steph.”

Steph’s eyes widen.

“Impossible,” Brown says. “I’d never move to this garbage heap of a city.”

“Uh—you weren’t her Watcher?” Harper says. She points at Bruce. “He was.”

Brown’s lip curls. “Of course he is. Bet he lets her get away with anything, too.” He shakes his head. “If she made the wish, does that mean you’ve got the stone?”

“Yes,” Bruce says, picking it up.

Brown holds out his hand, and Bruce pauses.

“What’s the plan?”

“We’ve got to keep it safe,” Brown says, with exaggerated patience.

Bruce’s hand closes over it. “Then I believe that I’ll keep it.”

Brown snorts. “Stephie, get me that necklace.”

“Steph, no!” Harper lunges, grabbing Steph’s arm.

Steph turns to her, looking helpless. “I—I’ve got to,” she says. “He’s my Dad.”

“And what about your mom?” Harper demands. “Where’s she?”

Steph’s face grows shuttered, and she pushes Harper away, hard enough to bruise. She leaps over the couch with the kind of easy grace that only a Slayer can have, and Bruce is crying out in pain before Harper can even be upright again, the glowing green stone dangling from her hand.

“Great job,” Brown says. “Now we need to find the Wish Demon, and you put a sword through her heart.”

“Aw, there’s no need for that,” a voice says, and Harper spins around, and sees Carrie.

“No?” Brown says, eyes sharp. “Well, I can’t say I’m a fan of the world ending.”

“I can twist the wish,” Carrie says. “Keep it contained to Gotham. It’s more fun that way anyways,” she says, holding out her hand. “Just give me my amulet back, and it’ll be done.”

“But people have _died_!” Harper says. “You can’t just—”

“_I’m _dead, in your perfect little world,” Brown says. “I don’t see why I should do anything to help it. Better all around, right Stephie?”

“Steph!” Harper says. “You don’t—you don’t have to listen to him. You’re a _hero_, Steph.”

“No,” Brown says, with a smirk. “She’s a Slayer, and she _does what she’s told_.”

“You’re full of shit,” Harper says. “Steph is the bravest, most brilliant person I know. She’s saved the world time after time, and even when she’s scared, she doesn’t stop. She cares about other people, about her friends. Even when she loses, she gets back up again, and she keeps fighting, because she _knows _that me, and our friends, and her mom, and her _real _Watcher are there to help her get back up.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in a pathetic little girl,” Brown sneers. “But I know my daughter, kid, and believe me—”

“Destroy it,” Bruce calls, wheezing from the floor. “Stephanie, you need to smash it.”

“But I—”

“Steph—” Harper starts to say, before Arthur Brown slaps her across the face, sending her to the ground. “Steph, please,” she says, from the floor. Blood is trickling out of the side of her mouth.

“Give me my _pendant_!” Carrie yells, and her face is getting less and less human, her eyes glowing brighter and brighter. “Give it to me, I—”

“Stephie,” Arthur growls. “Do it _now_, or I swear to _God _you’ll never see your mother again.”

Something shatters in Stephanie Brown’s eyes, and Harper gasps, every inch of her in pain.

“You can’t stop me in _that _world,” Steph yells, and then she smashes the wish stone onto the ground, and the last thing that Harper hears in this awful, twisted world of her own creation, is Carrie screaming in pain, and Arthur Brown’s shout of fury.

* * *

“Harper! Harper, are you okay?”

Steph’s face appears in front of her, and Harper blinks.

Her hair is long, and her eyes are kind, and it’s _her. _

Harper throws her arms around Steph and hugs her tightly.

“Harper?” Steph says, hugging her back.

“Just—I don’t even know what just happened. Magic. I think.” She looks around and can’t see Carrie anywhere at all.

“Okay?” Steph says, baffled, but she keeps hugging her, patting her back.

She is so, _so _lucky to be Stephanie Brown’s friend.

* * *

Jason is finally strong enough to stand again.

“You need to warn them,” Talia is saying, packing him a bag. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend my people to kidnap you, but when they found you, I knew I had to help, and my father has stopped me from being able to contact Bruce.”

“So I’m your only hope?” Jason says, going for levity.

“You must warn them,” Talia says, fervently. “I don’t know all of his plans, but I know they’re in motion, and you _need _to tell Bruce that we have less time—”

“Now, Talia?” Ra’s al Ghul says, from the doorway. “Again, for this boy?”

“Father!” Talia blanches, throwing herself between him and Jason, as if she could protect him from the wrath of Ra’s al Ghul.

He throws her aside with a wave of magic, and then freezes.

“Clever, daughter,” he says. “If I move to hurt him, he is transported back to Gotham. _Very _clever.”

“You can’t undo it,” Talia says, quietly smug as she pulls herself to her feet.

“No, I can’t. You always were good with your tricks,” he says. “Well. I suppose I’ll have to let him go back to the Watcher and his little friends.”

For a moment, Jason thinks that might be it—Ra’s is unpredictable at the best of times, and maybe he’s in a good mood, maybe—

“But not with that information.” Ra’s curls his hands into a claw-shape, and he pulls it backwards towards him.

Talia screams, and Jason buckles, as his memories flow out of his mind. Not all of them, not the most precious, the most important ones—just these past few weeks, healing under Talia’s care, every whispered secret, every desperate confession, and his own, terrifying betrayal in a graveyard.

Stephanie Brown’s baby.

He forgets it all, and he falls to his knees, staring up into Ra’s al Ghul’s inhumanly green eyes, and, for the last time, he lets the black come up around him and pull him down into its grasp.

* * *

After Harper’s done telling them all about that other world, she shows Steph the photo she showed the other Bruce.

She sends them to Steph, and gives Steph his spare leather jacket, which Steph folds carefully over her arm, and then… she goes to the mansion.

She’s got a book that Jason lent her, his jacket, and a small candle.

It’ll have to do.

She owes him this, a little memorial. She’s put it off for too long, telling herself that she’s okay with it.

But then Harper had shown her those photos, and something in her had _shattered_, and she knows.

She’s still grieving.

She’d done this for her Dad, back before they’d left Los Angeles. There was no body, of course. And it was different then. She’d hated him, as much as she’d loved him, hated herself for killing him as much as she’d known she’d done the right thing.

If she’d been able to do this for _Dad_, whose life had been vividly painted for her by Harper, even if Harper hadn’t known everything, hadn’t understood all of the words that she’d heard him say…

She can definitely do this for Jason.

The statue is gone—Bruce moved it somewhere, for protection, or something. She doesn’t really care.

The sword is on the floor, and Steph carefully puts it behind the candle, the book, and the jacket.

“I miss you,” she whispers, sitting cross-legged in front of it. “I—I’m so, so sorry—”

“For what?” A voice behind her says.

She stops cold.

She turns around slowly, and—

Dark hair striped with white. Six feet tall and broad as a house. A red hoodie beneath a black leather jacket.

And a cocky smile, turning into something more real as he looks at her.

“Hey Steph,” he says.

Her heart practically stops.

“Jason,” she breathes.

That’s all there’s time to say, before the two of them both charges forward, meeting in an embrace halfway.

“You’re alive,” she says, gripping his jacket tightly, while he squeezes her so hard that she can feel her ribs pop. “You’re—_how_?”

He pulls back. “I—I have no idea, Blondie.” He frowns, both of them realizing at the same time that it’s probably not a good thing. “I’ve got no goddamn idea.”


	8. wish i could slay your demons: part iii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephanie turns eighteen, and faces one of the most dangerous foes she will ever meet. Meanwhile, Bruce makes a decision that will change the course of history, and Cassandra meets her destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had _so much fun_ with this one, you guys have no idea. Now it's time to get rolling on the big story for this "arc!" 
> 
> (If you missed it, effarstudioproductions over on tumblr drew an amazing "cover" for this arc as a commission, and it's now featured on chapter 6!)
> 
> Chapter warnings: Implied child abuse, non-consensual drugging, gaslighting, illness, and violence.

Steph escorts Jason back, through the cemetery, the two of them stumbling under the weight of him and his stonelike limbs, until they get back to the school, to the library.

“Bruce!” Steph yells. “_Bruce_!”

Everyone in the library looks up in unison, and a deep, impossible silence fills the room as they all stare at the pair of them.

There aren’t words to describe the look on Bruce Wayne’s face when he sees Jason Todd, nor the sound that came out of Dick Grayson’s mouth when he saw his little brother standing there, somehow, impossibly, back again.

It’s a joy that is spread heavily with the sorrow and the grief that had underpinned these past few months, a grief that cannot just dissipate, even in the presence of its target.

There are explanations, but so few of them, and so thin that every word of it only raises a dozen more new questions, and if it weren’t for the steady glow of Tim’s Orb of Thessulah, which Babs had been using as a paperweight in his office, they might be unable to believe the depth of their joy.

But Jason is here, and his soul is also present, and even with no memory or knowledge of how he got there, with no answers and a thousand questions, Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne fall upon him in a tight embrace that was so intensely personal, so private, that Barbara Gordon took it upon herself to quietly escort the rest of them out of the room, so that the reunion could occur in peace.

Steph does not mind. She already had her moment with Jason, alone in the mansion

* * *

Stephanie Brown is going to turn eighteen years old in just a few days.

That’s… not something that she expected to get to say.

She became a Slayer when she was fifteen years old. She’d given birth only a few short months before, and weathered her father’s wrath for it. She’d gotten her father turned into a vampire and then killed him while listening to him, burning and screaming for her to help him. She’d moved to Gotham, made friends, and gotten killed in that short order.

“Stephanie,” Bruce says, when she enters the library, a few days before her birthday. “I have someone important for you to meet.”

He looks… nervous. Was that even allowed?

“This is Alfred Pennyworth,” Bruce says, gesturing to the man standing next to him. He’s old and thin, his hair elegant in its silver state, his suit impeccable, and his mustache refined. “He’s the man who trained me to be a Watcher.”

Steph pauses, confused, because she always thought it was meant to be a family thing, but she doesn’t say anything.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she says, and, because it clearly matters to Bruce. “Mr. Pennyworth.”

The man smiles at her. “Please, call me Alfred.”

“How _improper_,” a man says, from behind Steph.

She spins around, reaching for the stake in her backpack, when she realizes the presence behind her is human.

The man’s shorter but broader than Alfred, with thinning white hair and a larger, more imposing mustache. His suit looks, in her opinion, to be fancier, but he doesn’t wear it as well, and he’s looking down his nose at her like she’s something dirty on the carpet.

Bruce’s voice is very, very, quiet. “Wintergreen. I didn’t realize you’d also be in town.”

“Someone unbiased needs to investigate this highly unusual situation,” Wintergreen says, his lip curling. “As you know, Mr. Wayne, the Head Watcher has… questions, about the way that things have been happening in Gotham.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says firmly. “Go to class.”

“I—okay,” Steph says, edging around Wintergreen. He might be human, but everything about him has her on edge.

The door closes behind her, and Wintergreen turns to Bruce.

“I can’t help but notice you didn’t tell her to stop her pre-emptive attack,” Wintergreen says.

“Stephanie has impeccable instincts, Wintergreen,” Bruce says, glaring at the man. “She’s never harmed a human being.”

“Except her first Watcher,” Wintergreen says, his voice harsh.

“Brown was a disgrace to the Council, and abusive to boot.”

“We do not comment on how a Watcher chooses to discipline his Slayer,” Wintergreen says with a disdainful curl of her lip. “The fact is, she attacked him, and he died as a result of her actions.”

“Which was why you sent her to me,” Bruce points out, calmly. He’s not a young man anymore. He might not have seniority within the Council, but he is a Slayer’s Watcher, and has kept her alive for two years now. That’s not nothing, despite the insult that assigning him Stephanie was supposed to be.

“Yes, you’ve kept her alive by coddling her,” Wintergreen sniffs. “You’ve even permitted this _second _Slayer to remain in the same town; her and her Watcher.”

“Grayson is highly capable, and he makes his own decisions,” Bruce says.

“Don’t play games with me, Wayne,” Wintergreen says. “We know that Grayson was your protégé. His affection for you hasn’t faded, even with his years away from your damned influence.”

“If you were worried about that, perhaps the Head Watcher shouldn’t have assigned Grayson to Cassandra,” Bruce says, although his heart is racing.

The game here is delicate, with everything dangling by a thread. Years of plans are at stake, and Bruce can’t afford to make a single wrong move.

“I’ll be evaluating Cassandra,” Wintergreen says with a curled lip. “Her first Watcher destroyed her birth records for his own infernal reasons, so we’ll have to be a bit more… unorthodox with her. But I expect she’ll have no issues passing my examination. Cain always had excellent results.”

“And Stephanie?” Bruce says.

Wintergreen raises an eyebrow. “It’s her eighteenth birthday soon, isn’t it? Pennyworth here will be glad to help you administer her test.

Bruce frowns. “Stephanie has already died when she was sixteen. Surely—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wintergreen scoffs. “If anything, that only solidifies her as a failure. She couldn’t stop the Black Mask from escaping, and had to be revived by an unaffiliated teenaged girl of no potential at all. She consorts with vampires, goes to _school_, and you have failed to take any of the appropriate measures to break off her contact with her mother or remove her from this undesirable situation.”

“She’s saved the world,” Bruce says, his voice finally rising. “_Multiple times_.”

“She’s untrained, undisciplined, and unpredictable,” Wintergreen says. “She’s irreverent and vanished for _several weeks_, and you, by your own account, could not get her to reveal where she went. She attacked you when you were foolish enough to attempt to accompany her to face the Black Mask—did you think that would escape our notice?” Wintergreen strokes his mustache. “Wayne, you’ve done well keeping her alive as long as you have, but it’s obvious that she’s not suited to be a Slayer.”

“You’re wrong,” Bruce says.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll see in a few days,” Wintergreen says. “Now, where can I find Grayson and Cassandra? I’m eager to see a proper Slayer in action.”

Bruce forces himself to give the directions to the house, where Dick is running Cass through drills, and grits his teeth as the man turns to leave.

“Bruce,” Alfred says quietly, once they are sure the man is gone. “You can’t seriously be intending to go through with this.”

Bruce stares at Alfred in confusion. “Of course I am. That’s my duty. I’m her watcher.”

“Bruce, this test… by your own account, Miss Brown wasn’t raised as a Potential. She was raised as an ordinary girl, and looks up to you.”

Bruce looks at him, not sure what he’s saying.

“She _trusts_ you, Bruce.” Alfred says. “What we’re proposing to do is a violation of that trust. You’re putting her at great risk, and for what? To satisfy the wishes of a council of decrepit old men who have never so much as seen a vampire in person?”

“It’s part of the plan,” Bruce says, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know that.”

“This grand plan was fine in theory, Bruce,” Alfred says sharply. “But we are not talking paper dolls and toy soldiers. Miss Brown is a young woman who has placed her faith in you, and you are proposing to violate it to impress men who you loathe.”

“It’s not about her, or even about them,” Bruce says. His mother’s screams echo in his ears. “It’s about the _greater good_. It’s about making things right, after everything the Council has done.”

Alfred’s mouth is a thin, disapproving line, but he says nothing more.

He simply sets the case on the table and leaves.

* * *

“You’re leaving?” Steph says, dismayed while Dick and Cass pack up the van.

“We’ve had an emergency in Metropolis,” Dick says. “An old friend of Bruce’s needs our help.”

“Another Watcher?” Steph asks.

“No, Clark’s… well, it’s a long story,” Dick says, looking helpless. “But he’s a good friend, and if he says he needs our help, he needs our help _badly_.”

Steph swallows down the bitter “but you won’t be back in time for my _birthday_,” that wants to break out. She’s almost eighteen years old, and she knows how to deal with disappointments like this.

“Sorry,” Cass says, holding the heavy weapons crate on her own.

Steph’s shoulders slump, but she doesn’t say anything else. The situation needs a Slayer, and she’s got classes, so it’s not going to be _her _going to Kansas to deal with this crisis, but she can’t help but feel abandoned.

As they drive away, she gets a text from Bruce, asking her to meet him in the library.

She groans when she enters the room to see piles of crystals on the library table.

“Crystals? Again?”

“Since Tim has been working on his magical abilities, it’s more likely that you’ll be able to deal with threats from warlocks and witches more directly… _if _you take the time to recognize common magical ingredients,” Bruce says sternly. “Now. Three uses for amethyst.”

“Uh, healing?” Steph guesses.

He glares at her.

“Focus, Stephanie,” he says sternly.

He runs her through each of the types of common magical crystal three times, and each of the uncommon magical crystals once, before he finally hands her the large chunk of pearly blue crystal and tells her to find the flaw in the center.

It takes her _forever _to find that tiny brown speck, and when she’s done Bruce sends her on patrol. “Hey Bruce?” She says, looking over her shoulder as Bruce carefully sets the blue crystal back on the table. “You’re coming to my party tomorrow right?”

“Of course,” he says, not even looking at her. “St. Cloud Cemetery tonight, remember?”

“Is Jason coming?” Steph asks, hopefully.

“No,” he says. “At the moment he and Barbara are work on memory recall techniques to figure out what pulled him out of the hell dimension. Duke, Harper, and Tim are working with them on it.”

“Oh,” Steph frowns, even though it’s dumb. She’s patrolled alone before. But it feels like everyone’s… busy, this week, which shouldn’t bother her, but it does.

She goes out on patrol.

* * *

The Gotham Arms was once an esteemed establishment; not the largest or grandest hotel, but a respectable location with historical significance, nevertheless.

It’s there, that the Watchers have taken up residence. The building might be old and falling apart, but the rooms are in decent enough condition.

Alfred and Wintergreen have both set up rooms for themselves there, the two men’s loathing for each other palpable as Bruce enters the main room, where a woman is listlessly bricking up the door.

“How is he?” he asks her.

“Hungry,” she says, looking at him sideways. There’s loathing in her eyes. He can’t blame her, not if she knows what is going to occur tonight. She’s tall, with dark skin and fine cheekbones. Her body is packed with muscle and her hair is shaved, revealing an elegant profile.

“What’s your name?”

“Onyx,” she says, curt and to the point. She has to be in her mid-twenties, and she looks at him with fury as she bares her teeth. One of her incisors is chipped in a way that looks painful.

A former potential, if she’s only offering him one name. He suspected, because the Watchers rarely work with outsiders, and she doesn’t have the attitude of a Watcher, or even a Watcher student. She can’t hide her disgust, with what is going to happen here, and Bruce wishes he could be as free with his own loathing.

But he turns around and goes to find Wintergreen to make his report, rather than explain any of this to the woman whose life has been left in ruins by the Council he’s working for.

“How did it go?” Wintergreen says, drinking a cup of tea.

“The hypnotic state was easy enough to induce. The drug has been administered, and fortunately, Cassandra was called away this afternoon.”

“No fortune about it Wayne,” Wintergreen says, mild as acid. “Our good friend Mister Luthor arranged for a little cult he’s been keeping an eye on to attempt their opening of the Hellmouth for this time period for exactly this purpose. Grayson’s contacts in the area would have learned about it and alerted him almost immediately.”

“Contacts?” Bruce says, as if Dick's ability to make friends wherever he goes is news to him, somehow.

“That strange creature. What is it the locals call him…the Superman? We have reason to believe that Grayson has been in contact with him.”

“I thought the Superman was a local legend. A cryptid of sorts, used to explain away all sorts of local phenomena?” Bruce says, accepting his own cup of tea from Alfred.

“We have reason to believe he’s some sort of dimensional creature. Not a demon, exactly, although I wouldn’t go so far as some of the archivists. _They_ call him an angel,” Wintergreen snorts. “Human enough, and benevolent enough, although Luthor of course wants him for parts. He’s convinced that the creature can’t be harmed by any mortal means, and that a potion made from his heart would grant that power to the drinker,” Wintergreen sighs. “A tiresome man, Luthor. But he has his uses, of course.”

“Of course,” Bruce agrees, as blandly as he’s able.

“One more dosage ought to do the trick. Zsasz has been very excited at the prospect of fighting a Slayer. It has been some time since the Council has selected him for such a test, and vampires do get bored without stimulus.”

Bruce keeps his face still as a stone. “Stephanie will perform well."

“I hope so, for your sake,” Wintergreen says in a bald-faced lie. “It’s always such a shame when a Watcher keeps a Slayer alive until her eighteenth birthday only to lose her to the Cruciamentum.”

“Stephanie is creative and quick thinking. The medication only hampers her Slayer abilities. Her speed, her strength, her senses. Her cunning is unaffected, and she's got that in more than adequate supply.”

“Yes, well,” Wintergreen says. “I’m sure she’s very impressive for someone whose training started so young. Unlike Onyx, who you met downstairs.” He smiles, and Bruce is reminded of a predator. The man might not have much in the way of physical strength, but he is dangerous in his own way, and his keen eyes are focused directly on Bruce and those in his care. “Trained from the age of three. A perfect stealth operative, if I do say so myself.”

“She was one of yours?” Bruce is unsurprised. Wintergreen is a lot like his pupil, the Head Watcher, fond of keeping his former Potentials close on hand.

A Watcher only gets one Slayer in a lifetime, but many of them go through dozens of potentials over the years, waiting to see if a Slayer pops up among them. Rank and prestige come with the more Potentials trained, more for actually training a Slayer, and even more the longer a Slayer is kept alive. Every year when the new Potentials are rounded up, Watchers have to decide if they’re going to discard their old, aged out Potentials completely, sending them out into the world with no skills beyond fighting and killing monsters, or to try to use them as lackeys for the Council. It’s more work to keep them on hand, but it’s also smarter. Former Potentials keep the Council going. They are researchers, assistants, scouts, and smiths, doing any job that requires supernatural knowledge, but no magical ability. And, of course, nothing delicate or prestigious, and certainly nothing to do with the Slayers themselves. Assisting with the preparations for the Cruciamentum is as close as Onyx has probably ever gotten to the Slayer, despite her years of work for Wintergreen.

Wintergreen is many things, but Bruce has never underestimated the man and his cunning. To keep a loyal, clever former Potential on hand is always a good move, if you've got the political clout to get one a position.

Political machinations had kept Bruce away from Potentials for years, but the Council had been running out of excuses, and were going to have to give him one eventually.

Stephanie being called and her first Watcher dying must have seemed like a perfect opportunity to Bruce’s enemies on the Council. Untrained Slayers who had never been Potentials never seemed to last long, and after he’d been a Watcher for a proper, called Slayer, he’d never get another Potential or Slayer again. He’d be pulled back to London, placed in a prestigious but powerless position, probably in research or weapon design, and be left essentially locked out of the decisions.

Even Bruce had prepared for this eventuality; it was why he had pulled Dick and Barbara into play, rather than allowing Dick to continue his apprenticeship.

But Stephanie had made it to eighteen, survived multiple apocalypses, and saved the world. She’s a strong, capable Slayer.

Bruce is confident that she will be able to survive this.

* * *

Steph feels kind of lightheaded when she gets to the cemetery, so she sits down on her favorite headstone to gather her thoughts, fighting down the nausea, which hasn’t been this bad since…

Well, since before she was the Slayer.

She doesn’t _get _sick, anymore, that’s the whole _point_, well okay, not the point, but it’s a _perk_, and she hasn’t done anything else that could cause this, so what—

The vampire takes her by surprise, which is… well, a surprise. She normally senses them.

Maybe she _is _getting sick?

The momentum of the blow sends her flying to the ground, and she tries to grab her stake and push him away, but something’s wrong, her arms are moving too slowly, her fingers are too clumsy, she fumbles the stake, and—

The vampire snatches it out of her hands, his grin wide and menacing as he raises it up.

“Tell me if I’m doing this wrong,” he laughs, and he tries to bring it down into her heart.

Instinct has her rolling out of the way, and on pure instinct she grabs her backup stake—the pencil she used to take the SATs—and slams it into the vampire’s chest.

It doesn’t sink in easily, she has to use every inch of her strength, and her own ribcage feels like it’s constricting, but a moment later she’s coughing up vampire dust and collapsing onto the ground, covered in grass stains and shaking.

* * *

“Well, you don’t have a temperature,” Crystal says, brushing her hair out of her face. “Nausea, you say?”

“I’m not… not this time,” Steph says. “I can’t be.”

Crystal looks guilty. “Of course,” she says. “Lightheadedness, too?”

“Yeah,” she says, staring down at the bruise blossoming under her collarbone, where the vampire had tried to drive her own stake through her chest.

“I’ll talk to Bruce,” Crystal says. “See what we can find.”

“Thanks Mom,” Steph says, hugging her mom tightly.

Crystal hugs her back. “Of course, sweetie.”

* * *

Steph throws up on the next morning, the day before her birthday.

It’s thick, inky blackness that reminds of Ethiopia, and she swears, staring at it through watery eyes as she clings to the side of the toilet, that it _moves. _

But when she’s taken deep breaths, rinsed her mouth, and looked again, it’s still intimidating and dark, but it’s definitely still, and she feels better now, at least.

She goes to school anyway, puts on her favorite purple zip up hoodie and texts Bruce as she walks to class.

_Have u ever heard of a curse that makes someone puke black, wriggly stuff?_

_No. _

_Oh. Could it be a curse?_

_It’s probably nothing, Stephanie. We’ll talk after class._

* * *

Onyx was born to be a Slayer.

She’s not the only one, of course. She’s met dozens of others like herself over the years. Broken, useless women, too old to be Called, trained for a lifetime of nothing _but_. She knows how to assemble a crossbow blindfolded, can identify any demon species by its footprints, can tell you exactly the amount of pressure it takes to shatter a vampire’s ribcage. She’s trained for every terrain, can read twelve languages, most of them dead, and can recite the lineage of Slayers going back to the origin of the Council.

All of it is useless, of course. A handful of her fellow former potentials went into bounty hunting, mercenary work, even black ops, but none of them lasted long. They aren’t trained on guns, as the weapons are virtually useless against demons, they aren’t taught how to interact with people, most of them aren’t trained to do basic mathematics, and they’re raised to be completely dependent on their Watcher.

Oh, they can _survive_. She can forage, she can hunt, she can even cook what she catches and finds. She can win any fight, so long as she can see her enemy.

But she doesn’t know how to open a bank account, or how to get a job. She doesn’t know have a social security number, a passport, or even a birth certificate that she’s seen. She doesn’t know what country she was born in, or the name of her parents, and the closest thing to a parent she’s ever known is the bastard who did that to her.

Of course she stayed, when she turned eighteen and he told her she was never going to be Called, that she was useless and past her prime, and told her that, out of his fondness for her, he’d let her stay on as an assistant, if she wanted.

It was a better deal than many Potentials get. So many of them hunt demons, after they turn eighteen, because it’s all they know. Some last. Most don’t.

Onyx has her suspicions about that, but she’s not a fool enough to ever say it out loud. She’s made it to twenty-six, an almost unheard of age for a Potential. Wintergreen trusts her now, enough to bring her to this, the most secret and awful of Watcher traditions.

She stares at the giant coffin, containing the monster the Slayer is meant to face, and wonders if she feels sorry for the girl, the one who has the life that Onyx has always wanted.

She shrugs, because there is nothing she can do about it now, and ignores the sound of the Watchers preparing to go out to fetch dinner.

She turns to fetch the book she’s translating for Wintergreen—a text about vampires with souls, of all things—and she almost misses the sound of the hinges on the coffin creaking open.

Almost.

* * *

Steph sits in the library, her knees drawn up to her chest, feeling miserable.

“Stephanie, you’re overreacting,” Bruce says. “Now, focus on the crystal.”

“But—”

He looks at her, exasperated. “Stephanie. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out. It will be okay.”

Steph swallows the lump in her throat. “You’re sure?”

“Of course,” he says.

Steph feels some of the tension flow away, and she does what he asks. She still can’t name the four uses of peridot, but by the time they end the lesson with staring into the depths of the blue crystal again, she feels cold and miserable and lightheaded, but calmer, at least.

Bruce has to say her name to get her to focus again, because she zoned out, just staring at that blue crystal.

“Go home, Stephanie,” he says with a sigh. “Maybe don’t come into school tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says, quietly, not even protesting that tomorrow’s her birthday, that she might want to be at school with her friends.

* * *

She’s halfway home when a car pulls up beside her.

It’s a blandly nice kind of car, the kind that Twilight fans think are the sexiest thing in the world, second only to khaki skirts.

“Stephanie?” It’s the Watcher guy, Wintergreen. “Get in the car. We’ve had a demon spotted at a nearby hotel.”

“I—” Steph looks at the man’s stony, unsympathetic face, and swallows down any protests of not feeling well, about the hollowness that seems to fill her entire body. “Okay.”

She gets in the car, and texts Bruce about it.

He leaves her on read, which she’d be angry about if she had any energy left, but she’s just so, so tired, and she wants all of this to be over.

Wintergreen walks her to the door, the picture of scornful courtesy, and even opens the door for her.

How chivalrous of him, she thinks bitterly, as she steps into the creepy abandoned hotel, turning on the flashlight on her phone so that she can see, even as he closes the door behind her.

She sees a body sprawled out in the middle of the room, and she rushes towards it to see if the person’s dead, when an arm wraps around her neck.

She smells something rotting, feels something damp trickle down her neck, feels a knife press against her cheek.

“Hello, dead thing,” says a voice in her ear, and then everything goes black.

* * *

“Wake up! Girl, wake up!” The voice is deep and has an accent that screams fancy and education, and Steph forces herself to open her eyes, even though everything hurts, and all she wants to do is throw up again.

Now that she thinks about it, that sounds like a great idea, so she rolls onto her side and retches, black, inky, viscous fluid spilling out of her .

“Oh _gross_,” the woman’s voice says, “Okay, get it out kid, we need to _move_.”

She opens her eyes and turns to face the voice, seeing a pretty black woman with a bruise under one eye and a gaping bite mark on her neck.

“Are you okay?” Steph says, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, trying not to stare at the gunk that just came out of her. It's _definitely _moving this time, and the woman is looking at it, her eyes wide, so she's not imagining things.

“What? Oh, this. I’m fine. Or I will be. I didn’t drink back, he just wanted a snack,” the woman says, dismissively.

“He?” Steph says, getting to her feet, unsteadily.

“Zsasz,” the woman growls. “He was a serial killer before he was a vampire.”

“Oh great, just what we need,” Steph says. “Damn it, did he take my bag?”

“Must have,” the woman says.

Steph reaches around her neck, and finds the necklace that Tim and Harper had given her for her _last _birthday still there.

A star of David necklace. Steph’s not religious, not of any sort, but wearing a cross every day sends _vibes_, and she’s really not about that. Well, at least she’s not _completely _defenseless, even though a vampire that’s a serial killer probably isn’t going to be so easily deterred as seeing a sacred symbol.

“Okay,” she says, taking in their surroundings. They’re in a small room with one door and no windows, and the walls are creepily covered in what looks like a series of tally marks. There’s no convenient furniture to turn into stakes, which is never a good sign, when stuck in a creepy house with a vampire. “So are you a hunter? What do you know about Zsasz?”

The woman snorts. “No, I’m not a hunter. I’m a researcher.”

Steph looks at her, incredulous. The woman’s biceps are thicker than Steph’s calves.

“I can fight some,” the woman admits.

“Okay, we’ll deal with your self-esteem issues later,” Steph says, trying the door handle. It’s locked, of course, and Steph groans, before reaching into her hair to pull out two pins.

Maybe it’s a pain, putting her hair up like this constantly, but it’s a habit she got into back when she was in California and having to break into (and out of) places her dad didn’t want her, and it’s a habit she’s never quite shaken.

“Where’d you learn to pick _locks_? Your Watcher teach you that?”

“Pff, he wishes,” Steph says. “My ex, Dean taught me. Only useful thing he ever did, honestly.”

“… you have an ex?”

Steph blinks at her. “Well, yeah.”

The woman’s face becomes panicked. “Oh God, you’re not—did he grab the wrong person?”

“What?” Steph blinks at her. “Are you okay—sorry, I didn’t ask your name. I’m Steph.”

“Onyx,” the woman says. “You’re—are you her? The Slayer?”

“Most days,” Steph grimaces as she puts the pin back in the lock. God, her head hurts.

“… and you have an ex,” Onyx repeats.

“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you? Know much about Slayers?” Steph carefully inserts the second pin, sticking her tongue out as she tries to jimmy the lock open.

“… yes, you can say that,” Onyx says faintly.

“Well, I don’t,” Steph says with forced cheer that she isn’t feeling. “Never even heard of them before I got Called.” The lock clicks. “There we go!” She pushes the door open.

The hallway is pitch dark, and Steph’s cellphone is gone, so the two of them have to grope their way through the darkness, looking for a switch, a cord on the ceiling, or _something_.

Her heart is racing in her chest, because the nausea is back, and everything seems to be spinning. Her limbs simultaneously feel like limp, weak noodles, but also too heavy for her shoulders. She’s stumbling in the dark, groping around blindly, rather than her normal coordination and her decent night vision.

She’s powerless, she’s helpless, she’s terrified out of her _mind_.

But there’s someone else here, and so Steph can’t focus on that. She needs to keep Onyx alive, she needs to get her out, and then she can have a meltdown later. Also, possibly, be murdered by a serial killer who is also a vampire.

She thinks about the rotting breath against her neck, and the way he called her dead already, and she tries not to have a panic attack.

The bruise under her collarbone throbs forebodingly. 

“What _is _this place?” She says, to take her mind off her stupid, frail, all-too-human body.

“The Gotham Arms. Some weird hotel, got turned into a Bed and Breakfast years ago, before it shut down.”

“Okay, I am writing to the city council to complain about how many creepy abandoned buildings this town has,” Steph hisses. “This is _ridiculous_.”

The woman lets out a slight huff of laughter. “You’re really… not scared, are you?” She sounds… longing, somehow.

“No comment,” Steph says with a lightness she doesn’t feel.

“The dead aren’t scared,” a voice says from between them. “What does a corpse fear?”

Steph screams, despite herself, as hands wrap around her throat.

“She drowned, didn’t she, the little corpse?” Zsasz’s voice is like nails on a chalkboard. “The Great One drank from her and fed her to the sea.”

How did he—

The lights turn on, and Steph tries to scream again.

Zsasz is tall, and bald, and covered from head to toe in tiny little tallies. Most of them are scars, but some of them are newer, barely even scarred.

Steph twists in his grip, even as her breath grows short from the pressure he's applying to her trachea.

“Don’t worry, dead girl,” Zsasz says, as if he’s trying to soothe her. “You’ll sleep one more time, and then you’ll wake up again, and you’ll be like me.”

Steph’s grasping fingers seize hold of the Star of David necklace and she presses it against the inside of Zsasz’s wrist, and he lets out a horrible scream and lets her go, dropping her to the wooden floor.

She can see her surroundings now, can see that they’re on a stair balcony, can see the front door, two floors down. And, distantly, she can see the faint light of her cellphone, and the ripped strap of her backpack.

Across from her, she can see Onyx, eyes wide with fear, and Steph knows that she has to do something.

Steph grabs Zsasz and pushes him down the stairs, before vaulting off the balcony in order to try to get to her bag.

She cries out as she lands, her ankles buckling beneath her without the support of her strength and flexibility, and she thinks one of them might be sprained, if not broken, but it doesn’t matter, she lunges forward for her backpack, where she keeps her weapons.

“Kid!” Onyx yells, and Steph barely turns around in time to see Zsasz lunging at her, his face barely less monstrous in its demonic form.

Steph grabs her vial of holy water and with a quick twist to loosen the lid, throws it at him like a grenade.

The lid pops open as it strikes his bare chest, and the vampire recoils, letting out a horrible scream as the holy water turns into smoke, leaving the silvery burns.

… smoke.

She looks up, and spots the old-fashioned sprinkler system in the ceiling, and she nearly cries.

Steph charges past him, her backpack clutched in her hands, throwing her second vial of holy water at him as she goes to slow him down, grabbing Onyx by the wrist to pull the woman with her.

“Onyx!” She whispers, as the two of them stumble into a hallway. “You work here, right? Do you know where the water system is?”

“I—yes?” Onyx says.

“The sprinklers get their water from it, right?” Steph says, reaching back into her bag.

“Yes, of course they do, what are you talking about?”

Steph pulls out her rosary, the nice one that apparently was blessed by the Pope or something like that, she really wasn’t paying attention to that part, but Jason promised her it would work. “Do you know any prayers?”

Onyx stares at her.

“Put this in the water supply, say a prayer, doesn’t matter what kind, then _pull the fire alarm_. I’m going to hold him off as long as I can.”

Onyx grabs her by the arm. “Are you crazy? You don’t have your powers, he’ll kill you!”

How did she know—never mind. “I’m the Slayer,” she says. “Powers or no powers, this is my _job_.”

Onyx stares at her for a moment. Footsteps approach them.

“_Go_!” Steph yells, shoving the rosary into her hands.

Onyx runs.

Steph pulls her crossbow out of her backpack, readies it, and then spins around and fires just as Zsasz crashes through the door.

* * *

Onyx has spent the past two weeks in the Gotham Arms, first preparing it for Wintergreen and Pennyworth’s arrival, then preparing the room to house Zsasz’s coffin, and then keeping watch while the Watchers talked politics and drank tea.

The first thing she had done was fix the water supply, since even though Wintergreen spent her entire childhood telling her about the value of a cold water shower, he’s never really approved of them for _him_, just for _her. _

She stumbles into the utility room. In the distance, she can hear Steph shouting and screaming, can hear the thump of bodies and the twang of a crossbow, and she clings to those sounds, because as long as the sounds are happening, that means the stupid, brave Slayer is still alive.

She unscrews the water tank and shoves the rosary in, shouting the first prayer she can think of—it’s an Ancient Egyptian prayer to get rid of headlice, but it _counts_—and then she grabs the fire alarm for the utility room, and _pulls_.

The scream is awful, and it goes on and on and _on_.

Onyx runs into the hallway to check on the kid—_seventeen_, she’s _seventeen_, how had she never put this together, she _knew this_, she remembered how old she was when she’d become too old, but somehow it had been different when it was _her _being seventeen, rather than a girl with baby fat on her cheeks who refused to show fear.

Steph is leaning against the wall, her forehead bleeding profusely, but alive, breathing, and with no visible bite marks. The holy water raining down from the sprinklers has soaked her to the bone, plastering her hoodie against her skin and her hair to her head, but she looks tired and pale and oh, so young. Her eyes are closed, but she’s still breathing, so that’s something.

The Watchers had drugged her, robbed her of her powers, and she had still risked her life on the faint chance that Onyx would have been able to survive after pulling the lever.

There’s no sign of Zsasz.

So she was right about that, at least.

The door bursts open, far away, and Pennyworth comes in, holding a crossbow.

“Miss Onyx!” He says. “My goodness—Miss Stephanie!” He kneels down at her side immediately, checking her injuries.

“What are you doing here, Miss Onyx?” Pennyworth says. “You know Wintergreen will be displeased about you interfering in the test.”

“I—I didn’t,” Onyx says, frowning as she puts it together. “I—I was here when he got loose.”

Pennyworth goes still. “Were you?”

“… yes,” she says.

They're both thinking it. She’s the oldest surviving Potential left working for the Council. For some reason, the rest of them never seem to live this long.

“I believe,” he says, handing her his crossbow. “You were gone when I arrived. Missing, perhaps, even. Probably Zsasz killed you. It was terrible.”

“I—where do I go?” She says, staring at the crossbow blankly.

Pennyworth looks at her with the deepest pity. “In Los Angeles,” he says, finally. “There’s a woman named Kate Kane. She’ll be able to help you.”

“Kate Kane,” Onyx repeats. “Okay. Kate Kane.”

She gets to her feet, but pauses. “Will she be okay?” She asks, looking at Stephanie, who’s starting to stir.

“She’ll be fine,” Pennyworth says, softly. “They can’t touch her now. She passed.”

Not sure if she can find relief in that, Onyx turns and flees.

* * *

“You shouldn’t have gone in without my say so!” Wintergreen yells, and Steph winces, as Bruce cleans out the wound on her head.

“She’s a child, and Onyx was still in there!” Alfred says. “You know I disagree about the Cruciamentum in the _best _of circumstances, but I am not about to stand by idly when one of ours was in danger!”

Wintergreen snorts. “She was a failed Potential, not one of _us_, Pennyworth,” he says.

Alfred stares at him, gobsmacked. “By God, man, how can you be so callous? She was your Potential! You raised her!”

“Some of us know how not to become inappropriately attached to our charges, Pennyworth,” Wintergreen says. “Martha—”

“Don’t you speak of her,” Alfred says, his voice dangerous and quiet. “Martha was the best Slayer in generations, and she died due to the Council’s—”

“We’re fighting a _war_, Pennyworth,” Wintergreen says.

“We’re _waging_ a war, Wintergreen,” Alfred says. “And we’re letting children fight it.”

“You always were too soft, Pennyworth,” Wintergreen scoffs. “Fortunately, despite your weakness, you managed to raise a Watcher who can handle the pressure.”

He holds out a hand. “Congratulations, Wayne. You exceeded Slade's and my expectations completely.”

Bruce shakes his hand, and only then does Steph find her strength to speak up.

“… so you did this to me?” She asks, her voice a croak.

Every bone in her body aches, the cut on her forehead throbs, and she feels exhausted and scared and weak. She nearly died, powerless and afraid, and not even to save the world or to do something real.

But because these three men had decided it was so.

“You—you knew what was going on? Why I was sick? Why—”

“It’s a simple magical drug, but _very _rare,” Wintergreen says. “It’s tradition that on the Slayer’s eighteenth birthday, we determine if she is worthy, not just strong and fast. Being a Slayer is more about power. It's about intelligence, cunning, and grit. And you've passed. Congratulations.”

“I—but you said—” She looks at Bruce, who doesn’t meet her eyes.

“You exhibited extraordinary courage and clear-headedness in battle. The Council is very pleased,” Wintergreen says. “Especially considering your background, you’ve exceeded all expectations.”

Steph’s mouth closes sharply. “So, do I get a gold star?”

He sighs, as if she’s a toddler who's just thrown a tantrum about not getting a treat. “I understand that you’re upset—”

“I understand that you should get out of town before my powers come back,” Steph says, shaking with rage, or maybe it’s exhaustion. Either way, she doesn’t care. 

He looks over his shoulder at Bruce. “Well, you’ll have to try and teach her proper respect, still.”

“Bite me,” Steph says, baring her teeth at him.

He smiles at her, as if she hasn't said a word. “Congratulations again, Stephanie.”

The door closes behind him.

There's a moment of ringing silence, and then Steph takes that awful blue crystal and throws it at Bruce’s head.

It goes slightly to the side, becasue her aim is off without her strength, and it shatters into a thousand pieces against the wall with a tremendous crash, and she wants to _scream_.

He doesn’t even have the decency to look away, just turns to face her with that awful, implacable expression, the same expression he’d given Wintergreen, and it’s a world away from the man she’s known for two years, from the man who’d mourned Jason with her, from the man who had been willing to die alongside her when she was sixteen years old, and she doesn’t know _why_.

“_How could you_! I _trusted you_, you—”

She bursts into sobs, and Alfred is there, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, and she shoves him away, because he was a _part of this_, they all were, what was—

“Bruce,” Alfred says, softly.

The doors open, and Duke comes in, carrying a stack of books, and then stopping cold. “Steph? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steph says, tears running down her face. “I’m going home.”

She starts walking away, but Bruce calls out to her, the first words he’s said to her since Alfred had brought her out of that awful place.

“Stephanie. It’s not safe for you to walk alone.”

Steph doesn’t even look back.

“Duke?”

“Yeah Steph?”

She swallows a sob. “Can you… drive me home?”

He drops the books on the floor without hesitation, and wraps an arm around her shoulder.

“Of course,” he says.

The two of them leave the library, and don’t look back.

* * *

Alfred turns on Bruce the moment the door closes.

“What was _that_?” He demands. “I thought, at the very least, you had _warned her_ about what was about to happen, even if you’d decided to go through with that damned test.”

“She would have told her friends, and they would have interfered,” Bruce says.

“As is their right! I thought you’d agreed you would never put a Slayer through this!”

“That was before Wintergreen arrived to supervise this personally,” Bruce snarls, through gritted teeth. “We could have gotten away with it if only you had come to supervise, but _him_—he reports directly to Slade, he’d have figured it out, and then the plan—”

“Damn the plan, Bruce!” Alfred snarls. “That girl _trusted you_. She was your Slayer!”

“Is,” Bruce says. “She survived.”

Alfred lets out a _laugh_. “If you think she’ll be your Slayer after tonight, I didn’t raise you with a lick of common sense.” He looks at Bruce. “You’ve lost her, Bruce. She will never trust you again. And you deserve it.”

“I had to,” Bruce says, lips numb. “The Council was looking for an excuse to pull me away, to put someone else in charge of her.”

“Because they’re _trying to get her killed!_” Alfred explodes at him, in a way that Bruce hasn’t seen in _years_. “They don’t need her anymore, they’ve got Cassandra, who they believe they can control, who they think is the perfect Slayer, because they’re damned fools who don’t realize that Cain’s methods have _consequences_, or that the girls he raised still can think for themselves, and they know the Slayer line isn’t tied to Stephanie anymore. As far as they’re concerned, Stephanie is a _liability_.”

Of course they’re scared of her. She’s clever and creative, strong and gifted… and, most dangerously of all, ferociously independent.

The Council is terrified of her, and they don’t even know about Leslie, about Stephanie’s pilgrimage to Ethiopia, which Steph had confided in him, but he had elected not to repeat to the Council in order to protect the sacred site itself.

“I had to do it,” Bruce repeats.

“You can tell yourself that as much as you like,” Alfred says, turning away. “But that won’t fix what you’ve broken, Bruce.”

* * *

Steph doesn’t tell her friends about the test. Doesn’t tell them about Bruce, and the blue crystal, and the drug that made her vomit the darkness, the power, out of her own body.

She sleeps through her entire birthday, and when she wakes up, she’s eighteen, and her power has come back enough that the cut on her forehead has mostly faded into thin red line, running from the inside of her eyebrow to her temple.

Duke knows more than the others, but he still doesn’t know enough to tell, and no matter what the others ask, she’s not saying anything.

She’s been betrayed by a Watcher before.

She doesn’t know why she thought this was going to be any different.

She goes into the library the next day.

“Where’s Alfred?” She asks.

“At home, with Jason,” Bruce says.

“When do Dick and Cass get back from Metropolis?”

“In two days,” Bruce says, frowning at her.

“Where’s Babs?”

“Here,” Babs says, wheeling herself out of the office. “Steph, is something wrong?”

“Just the Cruciamentum,” Steph says, lightly.

Babs goes white as a sheet.

“_What_?” She whispers.

“Yeah, so do you want to be my Watcher?” Steph says, not looking at Bruce anymore. “Because someone who won’t be named drugged me and lied to me and I’ve had enough shitty father figures betraying me for a lifetime, I figure, if I’m going to go through this again, it can at least be a mom or big sister figure who’s going to betray me.”

Babs looks lost for a single moment, before she looks at Bruce again, and her expression hardens.

“Stephanie—” Bruce says warningly.

“Whatever, it’s not official, it’s not like what I want actually _matters_,” Steph says. “But I’m done training with you. I’ll train with Babs, or with Dick, or with Cass, but I’m done with you and your hypnotism crystals.”

Babs exhales sharply. “I’d be glad to train you,” she says. “We can talk more after class, work out your schedule.”

“Barbara,” Bruce growls.

The first bell rings, and Steph turns to go to class. She stops in the doorway. “I’m not going to tell the others, because Duke doesn’t deserve to hate his new dad,” Steph says. “But I don’t trust you. I’m _never _going to trust you again.” Her eyes are bright with tears she _won’t _shed in front of Bruce. 

Bruce looks away, and she feels a sickening stab of victory.

She leaves, and lets the door slam shut behind her, leaving Bruce and Babs alone in a ringing silence.

* * *

Babs turns on Bruce the moment Stephanie is out of hearing range.

“You said you wouldn’t do it,” she says. “You _promised us_.”

“Wintergreen came to supervise personally,” Bruce says. “It was unavoidable.”

“You’re full of it,” she says. “There are _always_ options. And what if they decide to do that to Cassandra next? Are you going to let that happen again?”

“They’ve already declared that Cassandra doesn’t need to take it,” Bruce says. “A technicality. Apparently Cain gave her a similar test when she was seven, and she passed with flying colors.”

“Don’t you dare distract me with stories about Cain’s horrible parenting,” Babs says, so pale that each and every freckle could be counted on her face. “Since when do you care about what the Council wants? You’re the one who got me out of that place, who helped my father find me, you’ve been spiting them your entire life!”

“The plan—”

“The plan’s not worth anything if you kill more Slayers to accomplish it!” Babs yells. “What’s the _point—_”

“Dozens of potentials, every single year,” Bruce says. “Kidnapped, bought, given willingly, it doesn’t matter. _Dozens _of them, taken from their families, raised to be nothing but fighting machines. You should have seen Onyx—”

“I’ve _met _Potentials, Bruce, I _was one_,” Babs says, hitting the arm of her chair with her fist. “I didn’t know my own last name until I was eight, because my Watcher didn’t think I needed one!” She glares at him. “When you talked me and Dick into this, this life of politics and back dealing, I agreed, because I thought we were _helping _the Slayers. When you sent Dick to be Slade’s apprentice, I didn’t say a word, even though we both know that man’s a monster, because Dick could protect people there, help people like me, like Cass, like Steph. I didn’t even say anything when you cut that plan short and got him to be appointed Cass’s Watcher, because you were right, it was important to keep her safe from Slade and Wintergreen and their like.” She leans forward, her face stony.

“You’ve betrayed every single choice I’ve made to support you,” she says, dangerous. “You can’t say you’re doing this for them—for the Slayers, for the Potentials—if you’re willing to throw them away just because it’s _convenient_.”

“I knew she would survive,” Bruce says.

“I’m sure she didn’t!” Babs snaps. “You didn’t tell her, she probably thought she was _dying_—who did they pull out of their collection for her? Which one of those monsters of monsters did they trap her in with? Pyg? Crane?”

Bruce looks away. “Zsasz.”

Babs recoils. “So you sent her in there. Let her go in there, scared and unprepared, against one of the worst serial killers in history. Someone who’s run the Cruciamentum _ten times _over the past three hundred years, and won _every single time_?”

“She defeated him,” Bruce says.

“And I’m proud of her, but that doesn’t change what _you did_,” Babs snaps.

His face is like stone, and she sees that she’s not going to win this. He needs to believe that he did the right thing, that this was a good call, because otherwise, he’s lost Stephanie for no good reason.

He’ll figure it out in his own time. For all that Steph says she won’t tell the others, there’s no way this will stay a secret forever. She’s going to have to tell Dick, and Dick won’t keep this from Jason, and after Jason and Dick both have their goes at Bruce, the odds of the others knowing…

Bruce really doesn’t understand, what exactly he’d done.

Not yet, at least.

* * *

“C’mon,” Steph says, grabbing Cass’s arm and tugging her close. “This way!”

Cass flushes slightly, not sure how Steph still doesn’t _notice_ the way that the two of them touching sends spikes of electricity through her body.

It’s the power within them, it has to be. There has never been so much of it in one place, coursing through two different sets of veins, causing two separate hearts to beat.

The two of them are an impossibility, and everything about it feels so, amazingly strange that Cass doesn’t have words for it, not in English or in Cantonese, and so she lets Stephanie Brown lead her further into the cemetery, away from the route that Bruce had wanted them to patrol.

“But—” Cass protests. “Patrol?”

“Yeah, but you feel it too, don’t you?” Steph says, grinning in a way that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She’s been like this a lot lately, smiling without meaning it, acting as if everything is fine even though she’s obviously upset. “There’s something _weird _going on here. And we’re the Slayers, not Bruce. He doesn’t actually know what it’s like.”

… that, that is true, Cass must admit. Bruce knows a lot of things, but he knows them from books and from stories. He has killed monsters, but he is not like Cass, like Steph, built for this. He does not feel the darkness in the distance, calling to them, does not understand the thrill of the hunt.

A Slayer is many things, but it is, first and foremost, a predator of monsters.

They hunt them, and the demons all fear them more than anything else. And demons are not used to being afraid.

That is what a Slayer is for, to be the thing that monsters have nightmares about.

Cass lets Steph’s hand remain around her wrist as she tugs her towards the strange feeling they’re both sensing. Steph is more sensitive to these things than Cass, but Cass can sense it too.

She… likes Steph touching her. It’s strange. She shouldn’t. The two of them should be repulsed by each other because their existence is an anomaly, a paradox of magic and logic and everything in between. There is only supposed to be one. It’s _the_ Chosen _One_, not _a_ Chosen _Two_. Whoever heard of such a thing?

It’s supposed to be one girl in all the world, not the two of them against the world.

But she likes it anyways, likes Steph’s hand in hers, likes the warmth of her body when it brushes against her, likes the way she’s grinning at her over her shoulder as the two of them go off the beaten path to investigate.

Cass tentatively smiles back, unsure of any of this.

She’s disobeyed her Watcher before, of course. She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t.

But… the times she’s disobeyed, it’s always been… about big things. Important, world shattering things.

Not something as silly as changing their patrol route, which Bruce is being strict about lately, ever since Steph fought that vampire, and came back exhausted, scared, and upset. She was sick, according to Tim, but he says it with a frown. Everyone agrees that Steph was ill, even if she’s not telling them everything, and she’s clearly still a little weak, so it makes sense that Bruce is being a little controlling, a little strict. 

But… Steph is right.

There _is _something dangerous, and powerful, just around the corner.

But it’s about to be facing two Slayers.

It stands no chance.

Cass finds herself grinning broadly at Steph at this thought, and finds herself, without really thinking about it, pulling out of Steph’s grip, but only so that she can twine her fingers through Steph’s.

Steph’s smile is beatific, and Cass’s heart races for some reason that she can’t place.

They find themselves moving towards the old crypts, even further into the cemetery than Jason’s little hideaway. They don’t go here normally; there are no recent dead to awaken as vampires, so they don’t bother.

Cass finds herself looking around, curious despite herself, and lets go of Steph’s hand to do so, even though a part of her wants to cling and never let go.

Steph doesn’t say anything, just kneels in front of one grave, then another, looking at the names and checking the grass and flowers, to see if any of them are disturbed.

“Some of these names are the same ones…” Steph says, quietly.

“What?” Cass says.

“The names. Wayne, Kane, Cobblepot, Elliot… I didn’t realize how _old _those families are.”

“Small town?” Cass says. “They don’t… leave?”

“They do, though,” Steph says. “Bruce went to _England _to become a Watcher, and Thomas Elliot went somewhere to become a warlock or whatever he was…” She frowns, tilting her head. “And I’ve seen Kanes on gravestones, but I’ve never met one of them in person.” She pauses, looking a bit worried. “I think… hmm. I don’t remember.”

“Huh,” Cass says. “Gotham’s weird.”

“No kidding,” Steph says, getting to her feet and brushing the dirt off her jeans. “Hey, want to try and see if the Mausoleum’s locked? I can’t get an exact lock on our bump in the night.” She makes a face. “I think I’m still feeling a bit wonky from—the bug.”

“Sure,” Cass says, glancing at the weird little building, made of granite and marble, bleak and foreboding in the moonlight.

She moves forward, reaching for the heavy steel door that will be as light as plywood to her Slayer Strength, when she feels the air move behind her, and hears a thump.

She spins around, just in time to see a vampire standing above Steph’s unconscious form.

“No!” Cass cries, rage and fear and concern warring inside her in equal parts, and she grabs hold of the raging darkness inside her and pulls it into her muscles so she can move even faster as she lunges towards the vampire.

The vampire steps aside and Cass goes flying past her, and Cass skids to a halt, her stake held tightly in her hand as she pivots.

The vampire is six inches taller than Cass, with long, flowing black hair, and a dangerous look in her eyes as the barest hint of a smile emerges on her face.

“So it’s true,” she says, and her voice is almost musical.

Cass doesn’t bother to listen to what the woman has to say, and instead she charges again, taking a flying leap.

The woman evades again, rather than taking her own directly, her dark eyes focused intensely on Cass as they enter a dance unlike any fight that Cass has had since she got fast enough to hit her father, but this…

Finally, she reaches into the pool of darkness, the neverending, infinite essence of what it means to be the Slayer, and yanks it into her body to make her faster, stronger, _better_.

She hits the vampire with her foot after that, and the vampire _smiles_.

“Finally,” she says. “A challenge.”

The vampire’s first hit sends Cass flying backwards, the force of it making her ache down to her teeth.

“Who are you?” She says, because that’s the sort of thing she’s _supposed _to ask.

“Shiva,” the vampire says, and finally, her beautiful, proud face twists and warps into its monstrous visage.

Cass’s stomach drops.

She knows Shiva. Knows that her father fought her.

Knows that she _beat _him.

“Come on, little Slayer,” Shiva calls, beckoning with her hand. “Your father claimed that he would teach you so that you could beat even me. That he would make you the most powerful Slayer that ever lived, with the darkness herself within your soul. A killer like no other. Show me.”

Cass recoils. “I’m not a killer!”

“But the darkness lives in you,” Shiva says. “I see it in your eyes. So let us see how your father did, shall we?”

It is Shiva’s turn on the offense. Her hands are grasping, each blow like a hammer, delivered so fast that Cass barely has time to breathe between them.

“Pathetic,” Shiva snarls, each time a blow connects, and each of the words out of her mouth hurts even more than her punches, than her kicks. “I will leave you broken on the ground, not even worthy to drink. Are you _certain _you’re a Slayer?”

Rage fills Cass, shaking her down to her very core, and she lets out a wordless shout. But she can do nothing but move out of the way of the next blow, because she’s still too _slow_, too _weak._ So she starts to focus, desperation and anger calling more and more of the darkness into her, until the fog of it is coating her skin, filling her with raw _power_.

Deeper, deeper than she’s ever gone before, pulling it into herself, and it’s _intoxicating_, it’s _beautiful_, and…

She starts to fight back.

Her first punch to connect sends Shiva skidding back, leaving a trail in the grass. Her second has her colliding with the iron door of the Mausoleum with a loud ringing sound.

Steph remains unmoving on the ground through all of this, and all Cass can do is hope that she’s still alive.

The power is everywhere, filling every inch of her, and why, why had Cass ever been afraid of this? This is home, this is who she really is. Invincible and more powerful than any demon, stronger and faster than any Slayer before her.

Was this why her Father had been the way he was? Had he seen this power, this darkness, and known that the only way she could touch it was by pushing her, by raising her like that, different than any Potential?

Perhaps, but she doesn’t care right now. All that matters is the threat before her, the vampire who is threatening what is _hers_. Her town, her friend, her position as the most powerful… none of this can be tolerated.

The darkness tightens into coils of smoke around her arms, a second layer, like armor, and she raises her stake.

“Finish it,” Shiva says, looking up at her, her face human once more. Her expression looks strangely peaceful. “_Do it_.”

Cass is the monster that monsters fear, the creature that demons have nightmares about. She is the most powerful Slayer that ever lived, and she has just defeated the unbeatable vampire.

She drives the stake directly into Shiva’s heart, and Shiva laughs, reaching out and cupping her cheek as she turns to dust.

“I knew… only my own daughter… could beat me.”

Cass stumbles back, eyes wide.

“Thank you,” Shiva breathes, and she crumples into dust before her eyes.

“Good job,” a voice says behind her, and Cass spins, but she knows who it is before she finishes turning.

“Father,” she whispers, eyes wide, and the darkness around her melts away in the time it takes to utter that word, leaving her, exhausted and confused and scared, standing in front of the man who made her.

“You’re perfect,” he says.

And it’s true. Of course it’s true. He never lies, after all. And he made her, so how could she be anything but perfect?

But then she remembers.

She straightens her spine and shifts into a fighting stance, ensuring that she is between him and Steph. “_What are you doing here_?” She demands, the Cantonese slipping off her tongue far easier than English’s awkward syllables ever have.

“_Looking for you, of course,_” he says, spreading his arms wide. “_Cassandra, you did such a good job. I’m so proud of you._”

“_Don’t care_,” she snaps. “_Go away._”

“_But I need your help,_” he smiles at her.

“_Go away_!” Cass repeats, wishing she still had her stake, but it vanished because she’d left it buried in Shiva’s chest.

“Cassie_—”_

_“Don’t call me that!_”

“_I’m your father,” _he insists, smiling at her just like he had when she had been little, and accomplished an amazing feat. “_And your Watcher._”

“_Not anymore_,” Cass says. She’s not sure if she means Watcher or father.

_“Come now, don’t be silly. Wayne didn’t teach you to do your trick. He didn’t teach you how to beat Shiva herself._” He steps towards her, intent to hold her in his arms radiating from him, and she punches him in the jaw.

He crumples beneath the force of the punch, blood trickling out of his mouth.

“Ow,” he says in English, as if he's suprised.

“Go. Away,” Cass says.

“Do you think that kind of power comes cheap?” He demands. “Do you think you can reach into the Slayer’s Heart because I taught you some meditation tricks?” He laughs, getting to his feet.

He’s the same height as Shiva, maybe an inch taller, but somehow, Cass feels dwarfed by him in a way she wasn’t before, by the most dangerous fighter in the world.

“I made _deals_,” he says. “For _you_. To make you perfect. To make you strong. To make you the _best_.” He smiles at her, and touches her cheek, exactly where Shiva had, and this time, she’s so stunned she lets him. “The people I owe are collecting, Cassie. I need your help, to pay back those debts.”

Clarity returns like a bucket of cold water crashing over her as Steph lets out a groan.

_She’s alive_.

Cass reels back from Cain’s hand, shoving him away with both of her hands. “Don’t care. Didn’t ask you to.”

“But you love it,” he goads her. “I saw your face. You love what I’ve raised you to be.”

“_Was she telling the truth_?” Cass demands, switching back to Cantonese as Steph stirs. “_Was she my mother_?”

Cain smiles, and says nothing, just turns around and walks away.

Cass lets him, her heart thudding painfully against her ribcage, as if it’s trying to shatter itself against her bones.


	9. wish i could slay your demons: part iv

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass has to face her past as Steph prepares to confront Cain. Meanwhile, it's time for Prom, and Tim and Kon are talking about their future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for the two-week delay in this one, finals season drained me dry faster than a starving vampire. But we're back, and still on track, so really, when you think about it... 
> 
> Art from effarstudioproductions on Tumblr is also now featured in chapters 1 and 2, so now each arc has its own cover image! 
> 
> Chapter warnings: minor character death, Cass's childhood, homoerotic depictions of someone becoming a vampire, violence, some gore, and mentions of institutionalized antisemitism.

_Sandra Wu-San has been fighting for a long, long time._

_No one has beaten her. Not in years. Every tournament, every underground boxing fight, every back alley brawl. It’s been years since anyone’s left so much as a bruise on her skin, until the night in the graveyard._

_Her sister is in high school, and she’s there on a dare, and Sandra goes to fetch her, because Carolyn is scared and asks her to._

_She goes, and the world changes._

_Sandra has never believed in magic or monsters, doesn’t even believe in any god or higher power, until that creature’s face transforms into fangs and sinks its teeth into her sister’s neck._

_And then… it turns to her._

_She fights, of course._

_It beats her, and is only turned away from killing her by the rising of the sun._

_A cold fury fills her, but more than that… a curiosity._

_She buries her sister. She leaves her home._

_For years, she wanders, learning everything she can. She gets her hands on magic swords and potions, and slays vampires and demons alike._

_She rarely loses, not now that she’s prepared, armed with the tools that give her the advantage she needs. It’s bitter, needing them, when she used to win any battle with her bare hands, looking down on those who needed weapons to compensate for their weakness._

_But how can she put herself on the level of these monsters, with their magic, their power?_

_Rumors bring her to America, and it is there that she meets her first Slayer._

_She has heard of Slayers; warrior girls who are as strong as any demon. She is asked, often enough, if she is one, or one of the girls considered for the position. Few, outside of the Watchers Council, understand what a Slayer is, or how they are chosen._

_The Slayer is a woman with curly red hair and keen blue eyes, who favors a scythe as her weapon._

_Out of curiosity, Shiva fights her, and loses._

_It’s… exhilarating, seeing this prowess in a human, but it’s also frustrating, because by now she knows that Slayers are Chosen, and she is too old for that, being already twenty-one._

_Andrea Beaumont does not last long, after their fight. She dies saving the world, a worthy enough attempt, although Shiva is disappointed to learn that she was overwhelmed by pure numbers, rather than going down in honorable combat._

_She continues to wander, seeking fights, improving as she goes. By now, she only needs a weapon to end the fight against a vampire, and by the time she is twenty-four, she considers seeking out the new Slayer, to see if she has improved enough._

_David Cain interrupts those plans, however._

_He is no challenge, not really. But he… intrigues her, because when she drives the pointed crucifix through his forehead, intending to end his pathetic life…_

_He does not die._

_David Cain is as fascinated by her as she is of him. He asks her about her heritage, about her family, her background, and she tells him once she has ascertained that whatever he is, it’s human enough for her to tolerate. She has no intention to seek out his power source for herself, although he offers it. What use would she have for his form of immortality, that grants her no advantages in a fight?_

_He leaves, and she continues living._

_She tracks down the new Slayer, a British girl with an irritating smile named Beryl something-or-other, and fights her._

_Shiva wins._

_The glow of that victory carries her back to the United States, where she’s heard rumors of a type of demon that sounds interesting to fight in Appalachia, when David Cain finds her again._

_“I want to make a deal,” he says._

_She sighs. “Why?”_

_“Because I looked you up. I looked your whole family up. You have no magic in you. Not a drop. No Slayers in your line, no secret demon ancestors. You’re pure human, and you’re **just that good**.”_

_“So?” She rests her fingers on the rim of her glass of wine._

_“You like a challenge, right? I hear you can beat Slayers now.”_

_“A Slayer. So far. The girl hasn’t died yet. We’ll see how her successor does, in a year or two. They’re like locusts, these girls.”_

_He laughs. “I train Slayers, you know.”_

_“You do a poor job, then.”_

_“You haven’t fought one of mine,” he says. “I’ve got a plan. To create the greatest Slayer the world has ever seen. A girl so strong that she can do what no other Slayer has before. The ultimate weapon.”_

_“And what does this have to do with me?” She says, raising her glass to her lips._

_“I want you to be her mother.”_

_Sandra, who is called Shiva by now, is rarely surprised._

_She is surprised now, and chokes on the red wine, the liquid spilling down her shirt, staining it like blood._

_“What.”_

_“Hear me out,” he says, leaning forward. “You’re bored. But you’ve hit the highest peak a human can get to. You can take down Slayers, and they’re not going to get too much more challenging. All you have to do is fight them, over and over again, until your body fails you.”_

_“If you wanted me to sleep with you Cain, be more upfront about it. Also, I’m not interested.”_

_“If you carry her to term, I’ll help you reach the next level.” He grins. “Tell me, have you thought about becoming a vampire?”_

_She pauses, halfway out of her seat._

_“Think about it. You’ll be strong enough to face all of those tricky demons, those powerful little monsters that hide away in the corners of the world. You won’t have to worry about aging, about slowing down. And, when our little girl’s all grown up, I can promise you a real fight, the one you’re so obviously craving.”_

_She slowly sits back down._

_“How do you propose to ensure it’s a girl?”_

_“Magic,” he says, waving his hand. “I’ve got an amulet. Makes sure it’ll stick, too, so we don’t have to do it more than once, unless you want to.”_

_“I doubt that,” she says, curling her lip. Men are a fine enough source of entertainment, but no man as assured of himself as Cain is of his own prowess is ever worth the trouble._

_“So, you just… come back, nine months from now, and hand over a beautiful, bouncing baby girl, and I’ll do the rest. When she’s Called, I’ll let you know, and then…”_

_And then._

_Shiva orders another bottle of wine._

_The drunker she is, the easier this will be._

* * *

Cass carries Steph back to the library, dazed and confused and, most of all, scared.

“Cain,” she says, Steph protesting in her arms that she can walk, Cass, what is she _doing?_ “Cain’s here—he brought Shiva—”

“Shiva?” Babs demands, her eyes blazing. “What is she—”

“Dead,” Cass babbles, dropping Steph, who lands on her feet. “I killed her. Staked. Her. Dead again?”

“You did _what_?” Dick says. “Cass are you kidding, that’s amazing—”

“_Cain_!” She yells, desperate for them to understand.

“Wait. Your Watcher? Your first one?” Steph says.

Cass nods, swallowing.

“I thought he was dead,” Steph says, confused.

“No,” Cass says, staring down at her hands.

“Cain’s alive?” Dick says, looking at Bruce.

Bruce’s mouth is a thin line. “Are you certain, Cassandra?”

“Yes,” she says.

She hadn’t lied, not exactly. She’d said he was gone, and known that he was hardly about to surface anytime soon, not after she had thrown him off the side of the tanker, to let him sink to the bottom of the ocean, her hands covered in human blood, because she had done exactly what he had asked her to, without question, and when she had realized it was a human…

He had told her she had done well, had tried to hug her, hadn’t asked why she was so still, so quiet.

She had known he would survive. Even in the deep, dark waters of the Pacific, she had known.

It had been a fact of her life as long as she can remember that her father couldn’t die. He had let her practice moves on him, showing her the exact pressure it took to drive a stake through a ribcage, the way to chop off a creature’s head in a single move. He had been human, once, but he hardly was anymore, and Cass had never questioned that, because he was Father, he was her Watcher, and she had loved him.

She still does.

“He—” Cass licks her lips. “He said—he had debts to pay. He wants—my help.”

“Did he say what kind of debts?” Babs says.

Cass swallows. “Demons.” She looks at her hands, which are trembling. When she blinks, she thinks they’re covered in blood again. “I think he—found a way. To make sure it was me.”

“To make sure _what_ was you?” Steph asks, reaching out and grabbing Cass’s hand and holding it between both of hers to stop the trembling.

“The Slayer,” she whispers.

“That’s impossible,” Bruce says. “No one can control who the Slayer is. That’s—”

“Shut up,” Babs says sharply. “Cass. Are you sure?”

Cass shrugs, helpless, because sure, he had been so sure, and he had always told her she was going to be, but maybe all the Watchers said that to Potentials, and he had just been right.

“He says… the debts were because of me,” she says, reluctantly.

The three Watchers look at each other.

“We need to call the Council,” Dick says.

“No way!” Steph yells, hands on her hips.

The three Watchers turn to stare at her, confused. So does Cass.

“What, you think we should tell them? So they can put him in charge so they can pick every Slayer from now on, and let him do whatever they want to get that power?”

Babs takes her glasses off and starts cleaning them furiously. “They would,” she says, her mouth a thin line.

“Especially Slade,” Dick agrees, looking faintly green. “If he could guarantee that Rose—”

“So we can’t call the Council,” Bruce says. “That doesn’t mean we’re on our own.”

“I’ll call Jason,” Steph says, immediately, and Bruce blanches.

“Maybe—not just now?”

Steph ignores him, and dials the number on her phone.

“_I said piss off, Bruce_—”

“Wow, Broody, really feeling the angst-machine today, huh? Put on your big boy hoodie, we’ve got an emergency.”

“… _this better be good_.”

“Cass’s dad is in town, and I need you to hold him down while I punch him!”

Cass grabs Steph’s arm. “No! He’ll—”

“What, I’m not letting _you _near him,” Steph says, incredulous. “He raised you, he’s—look, dads are really good at getting in your head, at telling you the things they want you to hear, and they tell you it’s okay because they love you, but it’s _not_. You don’t deserve to have to deal with that, so I can do it for you!”

“He’ll hurt you,” Cass says, terror seizing her heart.

Steph laughs. “He can try.”

Cass looks around for support, but Babs and Dick just look at her pityingly, as if she’s being scared for no reason, and Bruce has retreated into his office after Steph called Jason.

“Cass,” Steph embraces her. “Let me help, okay?”

“Please,” Cass says, slumping in Steph’s arms. “Be careful?”

“Sure,” Steph says, hugging her tightly.

… Cass thinks that she might be lying.

* * *

_The baby is born, and Shiva holds her briefly, staring down at the child, feeling a sense of disconnect with her. She looks something like the baby photos of her sister, but too many things are off._

_Pregnancy was irritating and time consuming, but here, at the end of it, she holds a perfectly healthy baby girl. The nurse takes her away, and Shiva lets them, knowing that Cain will have her within the hour._

_She has not seen Cain since that night, but the man has made it clear that he is keeping tabs on her. All of her prenatal care has been paid for. Vitamins and charms to ensure a healthy, strong child find their way to her hotel room. The intrusion on her privacy rankles, but she tolerates it, because of the bargain._

_It was odd. Immortality in itself never interested her. But the power, that becoming one of the undead offers her… to open up her body to a demon, to take in that power. She has read plenty about vampires. She has read theories about whether or not the demon supplants the human soul or cohabitates with it, how much the person you are influences the person you become once you drink the vampire’s blood._

_She chooses to believe that she will not change all that much. And if she does…_

_Well. Their baby girl better be everything that Cain has promised, because Shiva knows that no ordinary Slayer is going to be enough to defeat her, once the change has occurred._

_The baby is gone when she wakes up, and the nurse seems strangely blasé about it. Whether she was bribed, hypnotized, or possessed, Shiva does not care to enquire. Instead, she lets her body heal, lets herself grow strong again._

_Cain shows up, accompanied by a tall, willowy vampire with silvery skin and long dark hair. She is beautiful, in her obviously vampiric way, wearing a low cut dress with a dramatic collar, all in black. It’s as if she seeks to **advertise **what she is. Well, it’s a strategy, she supposes._

_“Nocturna is of a prestigious vampiric lineage,” he tells her, after she has beaten him in combat again. The man is better than he was, but he is still no match for her, despite his demonic gifts. The familiar ache for a challenge fills her._

_This is the next step. She has gone as high as she can as a mortal. And now, she will ascend._

_“Hello Sandra,” Nocturna whispers, her voice like music._

_Shiva raises her eyebrow and undoes her scarf, letting it fall to the ground. “Shiva,” she corrects._

_“As you say, of course,” Nocturna says, and she pulls Shiva close. Cain is still present, but he fades away as Shiva stares into those silver eyes. Hypnosis. Shiva could pull away, could break out, but she allows herself to fall under as Nocturna holds her head still and presses her lips against her own._

_It’s a parody of a kiss, for Nocturna is hungry, and the transformation occurs even as it happens, sharp, painful teeth sinking into Shiva’s lips. Nocturna seems enthralled by the first taste of blood, eagerly pressing forward, her fingers digging into Shiva’s jaw unintentionally._

_A distraction. Shiva twists her hand free and squeezes Nocturna’s neck enough to leverage her mouth away. “Not what we agreed to,” she says, blood dripping from her mouth._

_“My apologies,” Nocturna says, before lowering her mouth to Shiva’s exposed throat. _

_The bite is the most painful thing that Shiva has ever experienced. She gasps, despite herself. Almost anyone else would scream as teeth sink through her skin and as Nocturna begins to drink. A vampire bite releases a toxin that prevents the wound from clotting, and the toxin is unimaginably painful. Liquid fire runs through her veins, her heart racing desperately, pushing more and more blood into Nocturna’s hungry mouth._

_Somewhere, beneath the pain, there is pleasure, Shiva supposes. As it continues, the trance Nocturna has tried to place on her becomes more and more appealing, and as she falls into it, the pain fades away, replaced with a thrill, an exhilaration, even an erotic fascination. Literature has been obsessed with this bite for centuries for a reason, she supposes, but refuses to allow herself to be swept away by it._

_She is not some stranger that Nocturna is preying on in a dark alley. She is not here for romantic trifles or pleasure._

_She is here for power, and power alone, and chasing that pleasure will only take her mind off that true goal._

_Shiva feels the blood loss begin, and her head grows faint and her knees buckle slightly. Nocturna catches her, and laughs._

_“You will be a powerful addition to my line,” Nocturna says, before dragging a razor sharp fingernail across her own collarbone, exposing a thin red line of blood._

_Shiva forces herself to stand up. This is her choice. She is no victim here, no plaything of this vampire. She shoves Nocturna to the ground, and clambers on top of her. She does not know if Cain is still here or not, and she does not care. The first step is complete, and now, she will take what she desires. “Perhaps,” she says, and presses her mouth against Nocturna’s skin and drinks._

_If being consumed by a vampire was the most painful thing that Shiva had ever experienced, drinking a vampire’s blood is the opposite._

_She can practically taste the power, and it fills her with a rush of strength that some distant part of her knows is some sort of adrenaline rush as she continues to bleed out through her neck, as she dies, and takes her next life in from this vampire beneath her, who laughs and strokes her hair._

_That will not do. She pins her wrists and continues to drink, chasing the power, the strength, the invincibility that she has been promised. Perhaps she could stop now, perhaps it is enough, but she does not **want **to stop, and she keeps drinking up until the moment when her own heart stops beating, and she collapses in a heap on top of Nocturna._

_She wakes up in a coffin the next night and digs her way free._

_Nocturna is waiting for her. Cain is not._

_“Welcome, to your new life,” Nocturna says. “Blood of my blood.”_

_Shiva smiles. “I look forward to it.”_

_And then she rips Nocturna’s heart out of her chest in a single, easy move, and her sire crumples to dust in front of her._

_“Pity,” Shiva says. “I’d hoped you’d put up more of a fight.”_

_And then she goes off to find a real challenge._

* * *

“Why are you pissed at Bruce?” Steph says, as she gets into Jason’s car.

“… because the Cruciamentum is fucked up?”

“Oh,” she says. “I guess that makes sense. Didn’t realize he’d tell you.”

“He didn’t. Dick did.”

“Why would he—”

“_Because he’s also pissed_.”

Steph frowns. “But he’s a Watcher?”

“Bruce told me once that he’d never put a Slayer through that,” Jason says. “He—he raised Dick and me to be better. To be the next generation of Watchers. Ones who wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of the past.”

Steph exhales. “Sounds like a grand ideal.”

“I’m sure he has a nice and reasonable explanation for it, but I don’t want to hear it,” Jason says. “Good job on firing him.”

Steph looks away.

“Don’t tell Duke, okay?”

“Hmm.”

“… you already told him, didn’t you?”

“And Tim. And Harper.”

“What, do you guys have a secret group chat where you complain about the Slayers?”

“I admit nothing.”

“_Jason_!”

“So, Cain, huh? Thought he was dead.”

“So did I,” Steph says. “But Cass says she saw him after she killed Shiva.”

“… she killed Shiva.”

“Yeah?”

“_The _Shiva?”

“I guess? Who is she?”

“Who is—only the most dangerous vampire in _centuries_?”

“I thought that was you.”

“Ha-ha,” Jason scowls, slamming on the accelerator. “No, but the thing about Shiva is that she was unstoppable. The Council sent entire teams after her. Every hunter who had _any _power or clout or knowledge went after her. And she beat them all. She held off coordinated teams. She beat the best hunters with the best tech and the most powerful magics. If she was impressed with them, she let them live. But she killed most of them. And then, every demon went calling with flowers, trying to get her to join their cause. And then she beat _them_.”

“That’s… a lot,” Steph says, quietly.

“Yeah. She single-handedly threw off the structures of power in the magical community for _years_, and she wasn’t playing by anyone’s rules. She didn’t care about gathering forces or ending the world. She didn’t want to play politics or get involved in the demon communities. She just… fought. Rumor has it that she took a few of the most impressive fighters under her wing over the years. Didn’t turn them, from what I can tell, although I still think that she did _something _to Sage, but he insists he’s still human.” 

“Sage?”

“Weird guy. Magical researcher up in Hub. Hope you never meet him, cuz things get _weird _when he’s around.”

“We live on a Hellmouth!”

“And compared to what he deals with, it’s practically normal.” He turns a corner. “Shiva’s the best of the best, Steph. The best hunters and demons couldn’t touch her, and she pissed off a lot of powerful people who spent a lot of money and magic trying to get rid of her, and she survived all of that for nearly two decades now.”

“… two _decades_?”

“She’s _young_, Steph,” Jason says, eyes glued to the road. “That’s what’s got every single major demon shitting their pants. She was the best and she was _young_ and a _vampire_. And the pure blooded demons don’t think vampires are _anything_. We’re half-breeds, parasites, lower life forms, and the powerful ones use us as minions or bait, but they don’t like to take us seriously. And they _had _to take her seriously. Because everyone knew that if she wanted to, she could waltz into their oversized throne rooms and kill all of them.”

“… and Cass beat her?”

“And Cass beat her.” Jason’s grip was white-knuckled on the steering wheel. “If she’s right, Cass just changed the entire balance of power within the magical community. And anyone who’s anyone is going to want a piece of her now.”

“But—she’s Cass.”

“She’s a Slayer. And Shiva was beating Slayers in single combat back when she was _human_, according to Watcher records. Steph. Cass shouldn’t have been able to beat her. She’s good, but… Shiva’s _Shiva_.”

“But she did,” Steph says, frowning. “She’s not lying, Jason. If she says she beat Shiva, she beat Shiva.” 

“That’s what worries me,” Jason says grimly, slamming on the breaks as they pull into the parking lot.

* * *

_Cassandra Cain is five years old the first time she kills a vampire._

_She is six years old when she kills her first demon, a reptilian Ghora, with three heads. _

_When she is ten, she goes into a vampire nest armed only with a single stake and comes out of it without a single bruise._

_When she is twelve, her father teaches her to snap a neck in a single twist._

_When she is thirteen her father teaches her to remove a vampire’s head with barbed wire._

_At fourteen, she can name the exact taxonomy of any demon and three ways to kill it, and she’s killed every one of them that her father can get his hands on for her._

_She is seventeen years old when she kills her first human._

_She is a marvel of Slayer training, the men from the Council who come to see her agree. She is deadly without maliciousness, clever without questioning, and, most importantly, obedient to both her Watcher and the Council._

_At every chance she gets, she dreams of being called, of becoming what her father wants her to be. She will be the greatest Slayer the world has ever seen, he tells her, because he is the best Watcher, and she is the best Potential he has ever had._

_There were others before her, she knows. She’s even met a few of them, quiet, bitter women who flit in and out of her life over the years, who stare at her with barely concealed longing, but always look away whenever Father enters the room and hands them their assignments, and then they leave without a word._

_One of them, though, she remembers best. A well-muscled woman with scars around her mouth and stringy brown hair walks up to her, and shoves a stake into her hands. “It’s called Mister Pointy,” she says. Then she flees, before Father can see her talking to Cass._

_Cass keeps Mister Pointy. It’s her lucky stake._

_Her training is intense, honing her body, mind, and very soul for her Calling, which Father is certain is going to come, and Cass believes because he believes. Even when she turns seventeen, which is almost too old to be Called, Father just smiles at her, and promises that she’ll be Slayer before the summer rains arrive._

_And he is right. One morning in early May, after her morning meditation, Father comes to her with a large smile._

_She does not understand what he’s smiling about until he sets her to fight some wooden practice dummy, and they crack and break in her hands._

_Being the Slayer feels gradual. Her senses sharpen, her power grows by the day. Her aim improves beyond its already trained skill. She is strong, she is fast… and she can call upon the darkness, just like her father had told her she would be able to._

_He smiles with every step she makes forward, and does not rush her until she is at her full strength._

_And then he places a hand on her shoulder and takes her away from Macau, where she has lived as long as she can remember._

_It’s on the boat where she meets Him. She’s met men like Him before, although she can’t recall if she’s ever met Him before, specifically. All of them blend together, men in bland suits with pale hair and haughty expressions. He turns his back to her, and is yelling at her father in a language she does not know. It’s not Cantonese or English, which she has learned from sitting on the rooftops and listening to her father’s calls with the Council._

_She’s been the Slayer for only a week, and her father is giddy with pride._

_She is proud too, of course, because she is finally fulfilling her destiny, she is finally doing what she has been born to do. She is here to be the Slayer, and not just any Slayer, but the **best **Slayer that there will ever be. The Slayer who will change the world._

_She is so giddy that when her father makes their familiar signal, the one that tells her to kill, she does not stop, she does not think._

_He appears human, so she assumes He’s a vampire. She grabs the stake that her father had given her for the trip, a beautiful one made of mahogany and carved with symbols that she can’t read, and she grabs Him by the shoulder, spinning Him around and plunging the stake into His heart._

_His very beating, very alive heart._

_He does not turn to dust. He does not crumple away. He stares at her, eyes wide with shock, and He slumps to the ground, and His blood is wet and red and **human**._

_She looks into His eyes as He dies, and she stumbles backwards, feeling cold, shaking from head to toe._

_Her father grins at her, opening his arms for an embrace, so, so proud of her. His mouth makes the shapes to tell her so, but she can’t hear him over the roaring in her ears._

_A human. She killed a human._

_She’s the Slayer. She’s…_

_She grabs her father by the lapels of his jacket, tears streaming down her face, her hands leaving bloody prints against his shirt, and she throws him off the side of the tanker, over the rail, into the dark, unforgiving ocean. He sinks like a stone, but for the moment where he’s suspended in the air, looking at her, his face has nothing but confusion and puzzlement, as if he doesn’t understand what’s happening, or why she’s done it._

_And then, as she hears the sailors all around her start to realize that something’s wrong, she races across the ship to those lifeboats, letting the precious, valuable stake drop from her hands, covered in blood, to the steel floor of the tanker, and then she grabs Mister Pointy, tucked away in her inside jacket pocket, and slashes it through the air, sharp enough in her hands to cut the rope suspending the lifeboat._

_And as the sailors cry out in a language she doesn’t know, Cass and the lifeboat fall towards the dangerous waters of the Pacific Ocean, and she lets herself be swallowed up by the darkness and the incoming storm, not entirely certain if she wants to be alive when it is all over._

* * *

David Cain isn’t entirely surprised when he sees the car pull up and a blonde woman and a vampire exit.

Stephanie Brown, the other Slayer, is an affront, really. Her mere existence is offensive, a detraction from Cassandra’s legacy. His girl is the _real _Slayer, and she’s some sort of hanger on, clinging to a life she doesn’t deserve.

His spies tell him that the two of them are close, but really, Cassie should know better. It’s for the best.

The vampire is the Red Hood, that troublesome creature with a soul. A result of Ra’s and his magical experiments, if the grapevine is correct, although there were rumors he was dead, killed by this same Slayer who stands next to him.

But obviously, they were wrong.

He puts the box of Shiva’s ashes into his pocket. It’s a useful ingredient, the ashes of a powerful vampire killed by her own daughter. It’s a pity that Shiva couldn’t be more patient, that she was so eager for that challenge that she threw herself into things immediately, but in the end, David supposes it doesn’t matter.

David sighs and stretches his legs, wondering idly which one of them he should kill first. The Slayer would be more satisfying, but if he kills the vampire first, he can take his time with her… make her pay for the insult to his daughter that her continuous survival is.

Brown points at the Mausoleum where she and Cassandra had been heading for before Shiva’s impatience struck, and Hood makes a beeline towards it, probably hoping to pick up a scent, or perhaps even hoping to pick up evidence of Cassie’s fight with Shiva.

It had been exquisite. The power had crackled through the air, and honestly, the video that Cain had taken on his phone of it is going right onto the highlight reel. Cassie truly is his greatest result, after two centuries of raising Slayers. None of the others had taken to the training so perfectly, and Shiva’s pure bloodline had made her a perfect anchoring point for the spells to get her Called.

Yes, she’s perfect, and she clearly has mastered the powers that he’s helped her tap into. She’s been practicing. Given that she found her way to the Hellmouth on her own, it makes sense.

He would have brought her here eventually. It is where it all began, after all, but maybe he should have planned to bring her here right away. The creatures she’s fought… the things she’s done… He couldn’t have planned it better. She’s perfect… or she will be, once she comes back to him.

Brown is staring right at him, frowning… and she starts walking towards him, even though she can’t see him, concealed as he is.

Each Slayer manifests differently, he knows this. Three Slayers, he’s watched over in his lifetime, under different names each time, waiting and planning. But none of his girls had been able to sense him when he was like this… and yet Stephanie Brown is moving towards him, faster and faster, her hand going into her jacket for a weapon.

His eyebrow goes up, and he steps into the light.

“You’re out of your depth, little Slayer,” he says.

“Wrong,” Brown says, baring her teeth in an adorable attempt at ferocity, and she pulls what appears to be a magical dagger out of her jacket and tries to stab him.

Her choice of weapon would be clever a century ago, but he catches her wrist instead, and grins at her shocked expression.

“You’re not my Cassie,” he says. “You’re an untrained brat with superpowers and a lucky streak.”

“And you’re an abusive douchebag who depends on manipulation to keep your daughter under your control,” she snaps, before her foot connects with his chin, causing his head to snap backwards.

She pulls her wrist out of his grip and tries to follow through her kick with a (non-lethal, how adorable) stab in the shoulder.

He lets her get it in, because the way her eyes widen as she realizes that something’s wrong, that the dagger doesn’t go into his skin and bone correctly, is almost charming in its naivete.

He pulls it out, meeting her gaze directly, and her eyes grow to the size of saucers as he feels the injury heal, the skin knitting together.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, little girl,” he says. “And if you think you’re going to get between me and my daughter, you’re terribly mistaken.”

She puts up a fight. A better fight than he might have expected. But in the end, she’s no Shiva, no Cassandra, or any of the other Slayers he’s trained.

He is _the _Watcher, has lived three centuries and trained Slayers for two. Wayne has trained her somewhat, in a patchwork of the Wayne and Pennyworth schools of teaching, with pathetic results. She relies on her weapons too much, and has no idea of the true depth of her powers. Her strength isn’t honed, her speed is pathetic, and while her instincts and reflexes are sharp, they’re not good enough to take him on.

Oh, she’s good enough to hold off ordinary vampires, maybe defeat a few demons. He’s heard that she defeated the Black Mask and the Red Hood, but he’s unimpressed. She died fighting the first, a decrepit, half-starved creature with delusions of grandeur, and the second was nothing more than a pup of a vaguely distinguished vampiric line.

If he had been her Watcher, rather than Wayne, perhaps he could have taught her a thing or two. Like how to keep her guard up so that someone like him can’t barrel through it, grabbing a hold of her arm and _twisting_, causing her to scream in pain.

Pathetic. Cassie would never have screamed. Wayne clearly hasn’t taught her to have a proper pain tolerance.

There’s the cracking sound of her arm breaking, but she doesn’t give up, still trying to fight him left handed, and with kicks, cradling her arm against her chest. He’s almost impressed, but he’s not sure where the Red Hood is, and so he needs to cut this examination of Wayne’s training short, and so he moves behind her easily, and she freezes, not seeing where he went until his hands are wrapped around her throat, strangling her.

Interesting… she still has a connection with the Slayer… he would have thought that would be severed. Will another Slayer be called after her death? How curious… or, perhaps she’s tapping into the same pool that Cassie is, meaning that Cassie can’t reach her full potential?

Well, he’ll find out once he finishes. He squeezes tighter, and her fingers scrabble, useless, at his grip. He grunts in pain as her heel finds his groin, but he’d eliminated that vulnerability a century ago, after one of his Slayers had taken advantage of it one too many times during her rebellious phase, and it doesn’t faze him more than any other glancing blow.

A sword through his chest does give him pause, and he lets her go in confusion, before the Red Hood pulls the sword out and swings again, this time removing his head from his shoulders.

* * *

“Get the gas from your car,” Steph gasps, massaging her throat. “He can heal, we need—”

“Adorable,” Cain’s head says. His body gets to its feet. “But futile.”

“Run!” Jason yells, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her with him, towards the car.

“We can’t—”

“It’s almost sunrise! I’m not letting you face him alone!”

That shuts Steph up. She had very nearly died again, the bruises blossoming around her throat prove it.

Once again, she’s only alive because of her friends. What sort of a Slayer _is _she?

She forces that thought aside. She survived the Red Hood alone, she was offered to bathe in the darkness and had been praised for abstaining, she had survived the Cruciamentum. She’s a real Slayer, no matter what.

They get back to the school, and Cass is waiting, leaping to her feet to check on her. Her hands press against Steph’s cheeks, her neck, her collarbones in rapid succession, leaving Steph blushing as Cass checks on her.

“Told you,” she says, looking miserable.

“He’s not human,” Jason says to Babs. “Barb, I don’t know what he is, but that guy’s head was talking after I took it off his shoulders, and I’ve never seen anything that looks human be able to pull off that particular magic trick.”

“He’s human,” Cass says, quietly. “Or… he used to be. But nothing hurts him. Not… really.”

“What did he do?” Bruce says, his arms crossed. He’s standing apart from the rest of them, not checking on Steph like Cass, or gathered by the table like Jason, Dick, and Babs.

Cass shrugs. “He never said.”

“You mentioned deals,” Dick says, slowly. “I… could he have done something like that?”

“A demon deal for immortality?” Babs frowns. “I mean, there are rumors…”

“A deal like that isn’t a simple one,” Bruce says. “It’s layered. And the cost is enormous.”

“Somehow, Cain doesn’t strike me as a guy who cares, as long as he’s not the one footing the bill,” Jason says, not looking at Bruce.

“He also made sure Cass is the Slayer,” Steph says, grabbing Cass’s hands to stop her from fussing anymore about the bruises. “Cass, I’m fine. Really.”

Cass looks at her, her dark eyes wide and miserable. “He tried to kill you.”

“He’s not the first, and he won’t be the last,” Steph says. “Hell, my dad tried, he’s not special.”

She sees Babs and Dick jerk slightly at that, but Cass doesn’t react, just looking at her. “But—”

“Nope, it’s fine, no big deal,” Steph says firmly. “Now c’mon. I need breakfast before class. Let’s go to Big Belly Burger. We deserve hash browns after tonight. I got a concussion, you killed the best vampire fighter in centuries, you had to deal with your dad, and I got strangled. Potatoes are needed.”

“I—” Cass looks like she wants to protest, but she eventually nods. “Okay. Hash browns.”

“Thank God, I need grease,” Steph says, gripping Cass’s hand in her own, ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, or at least telling her it’s the adrenaline crash from nearly dying, and drags her out of the school.

* * *

_The ocean is cold and dangerous, and Cass is a long way from anywhere._

_But she survives. She drinks rainwater out of the empty bottles when the bottled water runs out, and catches seagulls and fish with her bare hands when the food runs out. She throws all of the tracking equipment out, keeping only the flares, which she supposes could be useful. She defaces the lifeboat so that no one can tell where it came from._

_After a few weeks adrift, she finally finds herself near land. Well, not near, but she can see it, so she shrugs, puts Mister Pointy in her pocket, and swims for it._

_It takes her a few days to recover from the sunstroke, dehydration, and malnutrition that she picked up towards the end, but she heals quickly, and wherever she is, there are lots of people who she can steal money from to buy herself what she needs._

_Australia, she figures out eventually, which she knows is somewhere to the south of Macau, although she couldn’t pick it out on a map, given that she’s never seen one of an area bigger than a few streets._

_But she figures out how to navigate it quickly enough, eventually stealing a car and driving in the direction of the nearest airport. It runs out of gasoline on the way there, so she steals another one, and another, and another, before she finally gets there, stowing away in the cargo hold on the next plane to America._

_From her father’s comments, she knows that the last Slayer had died in a place called Gotham, New Jersey. And if she remembers her history correctly, Gotham is on a Hellmouth. Which means that, if the last Slayer is dead, they will surely need a new one to defend it, and there will be a Watcher who can Watch her… one who is not her Father, who she hopes dearly is trapped by the gravity at the bottom of the ocean, slowly making his way, step by step, towards land._

_She hopes it takes him a hundred years._

* * *

Tim has never really been one to bother with high school dances, not really. He’s _gone_ to most of them, sure, but after Steph died on the night that they’d been supposed to go to prom a few years ago, it’s kind of taken the fun out of it all.

But Kon’s _really _excited for Senior Prom, and so, Tim finds himself getting excited too, surprisingly. He and Kon have matching pocket squares, matching ties, and matching boutonnières. And after a lot of discussion, negotiations, and a few threats, Kon has even agreed not to wear a band t-shirt beneath his tux _and _not to rip his tux dramatically open to reveal the shirt in the middle of the dance. Tim cannot, however, manage to get Conner to promise not to sing karaoke while underaged drinking at whatever afterparty they end up at. 

Kon is just lucky that Tim loves him, honestly.

Steph has picked out a dress and Harper, Duke, Kon and him have gone to their tux-fittings. Harper’s even gotten a fresh dye job and undercut for the occasion, and has been trying to talk Kon into getting a matching hairstyle with her, because she’s an _awful best friend who likes to make Tim suffer_.

“Are you coming, Cass?” Steph says, hopefully, as they all sit crammed into a booth at the Cave together.

Cass blinks at her. “I don’t go to school,” she reminds her.

“You don’t have to go to the school to go,” Steph says. “Lots of people bring… people. Who don’t go to our school.”

Tim stares down at his soda, feeling the second-hand-gay coming on a bit strong. He’d… _suspected _that Steph had a thing for Cass, but he hadn’t expected her to be quite so blatant about it. How is it that Stephanie Brown can be graceful in so many situations, but fall flat on her face when it comes to a blatant attempt at trying to ask a girl to the dance?

A quick glance at Harper, who is shoveling onion rings into her mouth like her life depends on it, makes him think that this isn’t exactly news to Harper.

Duke is covering his face with his hands.

“But… why? It’s dumb,” Cass says.

“Oh,” Steph says. “I mean… it’s fun?”

Cass frowns. “Cain is… planning something. And you want… to dance?”

“I mean…” Steph looks awkward, and Tim decides to save her.

“Oh, I love this song! It’s one of Kon’s best,” Tim says loudly.

Kon, on stage, is singing something about what he would do if he had telekinesis. It was a new song, really showing off that E-Flat Chord progression that Kon was so proud of.

Steph and Cass turn to listen.

“… is that line about how he’d like to pin you against the wall with his mind?” Steph asks, raising an eyebrow.

Tim splutters. “What? No. It’s just a song!”

“Okay I’m pretty sure that line is about how he wants to carry you in his big strong muscular arms,” Duke says.

“He wants to get _tactile _with that telekinesis, huh?” Harper waggles her eyebrows at Tim.

“It’s a metaphor!” Tim protests.

“Yeah, a metaphor about how he wants to touch your—”

“Dick! Hi! Care to join us?” Tim yells loudly, ignoring his _horrible friends_.

Dick frowns at them. “Aren’t Cass and Steph supposed to be on patrol right now?”

“It’s research night,” Steph says, gesturing to the ancient texts in Sumerian and Latin that sit between the plates of onion rings and glasses of soda.

“And you’re not in the library, because…?”

“We’re avoiding Bruce,” Duke says.

Dick’s expression changes, and he sighs, pulling up a table to their booth and sitting down. “I know,” he says, quietly.

“I’m going to go dance,” Steph says loudly, and she vaults over the back of the booth and goes to the dance floor.

They all look after her.

“I’ll talk to her,” Cass says quietly, getting up and going after Steph.

“She really doesn’t want to talk about it, huh?”

They all nod. “She won’t even _discuss _it with us. Like, she’s fired Bruce, but she still won’t tell us what _happened_.”

“I know,” he says. “And with Onyx missing, we don’t exactly have much to go on.”

“What’s the _point_ of that test?” Tim demands. “And why did Bruce do it to Steph?”

“Officially,” Dick says. “The point of the Cruciamentum is to prove that a Slayer is everything she ought to be. They take away her powers and force her to go through a dangerous test against one of the most dangerous vampires that the Council ever captured alive, and she’s supposed to get through on cunning and skill alone.”

“And unofficially?” Duke asks.

“It’s yet another measure of control over the Slayers,” Dick says flatly. “Older Slayers have more experience. Maybe they don’t listen to their Watcher as much. Maybe they question orders more. They’re less obedient. Less reliable. And they need the Council a little less.”

“Bastards,” Harper says.

“Exactly. The Watchers are a bunch of old, rich white men sitting in a circle passing Watcher titles down family lines. Bruce adopted me, but technically, I couldn’t be the next Watcher in the Wayne line until Bruce retires, so in order for me to get active early, we had to find a line with no heir and get them to apprentice me.”

“Then what line are you, then?” Tim says, tilting his head to one side.

“The Wilson line,” Dick says. “I was apprenticed to the man who’s the head of the Council right now, for political reasons. Jason was supposed to be the Pennyworth apprentice, but…”

“Hard for a vampire to be a Watcher,” Jason agrees from over his shoulder. “Are we talking shit about the Council?” He sits in Cass’s old spot.

“And Bruce, we’re not picky,” Harper says, shoving a half-finished plate of onion rings at Jason.

“Oh, awesome,” Jason says, shoving one of them into his mouth.

“I think Bruce panicked when Slade sent Wintergreen to supervise the test,” Dick says.

“Why would he do that?”

“Wintergreen is Slade’s right-hand man,” Dick explains. “He’s one of the fussiest, oldest, most traditional Watchers on the Council, and he has a _lot _of power. And the Council _hates _Bruce.”

“But why?” Harper says, confused. “He’s a rich white man, shouldn’t he fit right in?”

“Two things,” Jason says. “One, he’s Jewish, and the Watchers are a bunch of Anglo-Protestants to the bone.”

“And two,” Dick finishes, looking tired. “His mother was a Slayer.”

“What,” Duke says.

“What?” Harper adds, for good measure.

“Martha Kane,” Dick says, as if that should mean something to them. “She and Alfred worked together ages ago. Thomas Wayne was Alfred’s apprentice, since his own father had died young and hadn’t been able to train him properly.”

“And they fell in love,” Jason says, stealing Tim’s soda. “It was all very romantic, I’m sure. A teenage pregnancy, a hushed-up wedding, and Bruce ends up being born sometime around Martha’s eighteenth birthday.”

“But that’s—”

“She died when Bruce was four, when she was twenty-two,” Dick’s voice is quiet. “She and Thomas went into a situation without backup because the Council refused to help them with the situation for political reasons.”

“Political reasons?” Tim asks.

Jason and Dick look at each other. “They were helping a colony of demons who were being preyed on by other, more powerful demons,” Jason says. “They were pacifists, they never hurt anyone, but the Council didn’t care. A demon was a demon, and so they were willing to just let them all get slaughtered.”

“Have I mentioned I hate the Council lately?” Harper asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says, quietly. “But even though Bruce is a Slayer’s kid—which is rare, and when it happens, the Council likes to bury the kids far, far away where they can pretend they don’t even exist—there’s a problem.”

“He’s a Watcher’s kid too,” Duke guesses.

“Give the kid a prize,” Jason says, raising Tim’s soda glass. “And the Council are too lineage obsessed to just let him go to waste.”

“So they let him be a Watcher, but they don’t want him to… actually be a Watcher?” Harper says, frowning.

“They kept him away from Potentials as long as they could. The more Potentials you train, the more status and power you have in the Council, and you can’t train any more Potentials after you’ve trained an actual Slayer. They were probably waiting for someone like Steph to come along. Someone who doesn’t have a Watcher, who wasn’t a Potential before she was Called.” Dick explains.

“Why?” Duke’s the one to ask, but they’re all thinking it.

“Because,” Jason’s mouth is a thin, upset line. “The odds of a Slayer like Steph, with no training at all, reaching her eighteenth birthday are slim to none.”

They all turn to look at her, dancing to the beat of Kon’s song, Cass next to her, laughing and dancing next to her.

“Fuck the Council,” Harper says, quietly.

They all nod.

* * *

“Harper?”

Harper turns, blinking in surprise as she sees Carrie there.

“You again?” She says, irritated. It’s been bad enough, seeing her around school—apparently she’s trapped in human form since the other Steph destroyed her necklace in the alternate universe, so she’s stuck going through puberty with the rest of them. Which, to be fair, is a pretty decent punishment, as far as karma goes.

Carrie sighs. “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

“Why?” Harper says. “It’s not like I enjoy seeing former demons who enjoy making apocalypse dimensions in math class.”

“Yes, but you think I’m pretty and you like looking at my boobs.”

Harper opens her mouth, and then closes it. “I mean, you’re right, but you don’t have to say it.”

Carrie nods. “Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me to Prom?”

“… are you kidding me?”

* * *

“So you said yes, didn’t you?” Tim asks.

“I said yes.”

“Carrie,” Steph says conversationally. “Did you consider… _not_?”

“But she’s hot.”

“And tried to kill you!”

“Technically she only stranded me in an apocalypse dimension, which puts her one up on most of my other dates.”

“Have you considered growing some standards?”

“No.”

* * *

“So I think I’m going to not go to college, and just go on tour with my band,” Kon announces.

Tim puts down his Princeton acceptance letter, and stares at his boyfriend.

“Kon, is this how you’re telling me you didn’t remember to send in your applications?”

“Dad sent them in for me, because apparently that’s what he does when I try to skive off applying to Harvard.” Kon looks nervous. “But I mean—well, you got into all of those fancy colleges, right?

“If by fancy, you mean, I got into some colleges, yes. Not ones your dad would consider good, I’m sure.”

“Dad doesn’t count, he’s an evil CEO who bribed MIT into accepting me by building them a new computer lab building.”

“… _you got into MIT_?”

“I think you’re missing the point here,” Kon says, frowning vaguely.

“_I _didn’t get into MIT!” Tim says, offended.

“Your dad isn’t one of the wealthiest men in America engaging in blatant bribery to get his slacker son into prestigious institutions?”

Tim huffs and crosses his arms.

“Anyways, but I checked. None of our schools are in the same city. So, since you’re a nerd and actually want to _go _to college, I figure I’ll just move to wherever you end up going and get a job there. Or move in _with _you, if you don’t have to live in one of those sucky dorms. If you do, I’ll raid Dad’s wallet to get the cash for a deposit on a big fancy apartment with no roommates so we can have somewhere to hang out where we won’t have to deal with your roommates—”

“Kon?” Tim asks, quietly. “Are you asking me to move in with you?”

Kon pauses, considering. “I guess I am.”

Abandoning his acceptance letters, Tim crosses the room, climbs onto Kon’s lap, and starts kissing him.

Kon seems to be rather enthusiastic about this course of action, and it keeps them occupied for some time.

* * *

Cass carefully reaches out and touches the fabric of Steph’s dress, then draws her hand away quickly.

It’s frilly and floor length, floofy and purple. There’s a band of silver sequins around the waist, with a few of them trailing down onto the skirt, and the bodice is low-cut and tight, with frilly things that barely seem like sleeves at all sewn onto it. The skirt forms a triangle that, when Cass carefully lifts up the skirt, contains even more layers of fabric underneath it to maintain the shape.

It’s the most beautiful thing that Cass has ever seen.

Cass wears clothes for practicality. Sometimes, she indulges and lets herself wear something because it’s pretty, but not often, because she’s ruining them with fighting and killing demons.

The idea of owning something pretty just for the sake of owning something pretty is… new.

“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” Crystal Brown says behind her. “Steph saved for two months for that dress. She wouldn’t let me help at all.”

“It’s… purple,” Cass offers, trying to hide her fascination.

“She decided to go all out for her Senior Prom,” Crystal says fondly. “Have you found your dress yet, Cass? If you haven’t, you should get Dick to take you to that nice boutique on Main Street, they have some very pretty ones that I think you’d like.”

Cass stops, considering. She looks at the dress again. “But isn’t Prom… tonight?”

“There’s still time,” Crystal says. “It’s not exactly like not having a ticket would stop you from getting in.”

She’s right.

Cass texts Dick.

_Can we go dress shopping_?

_Absolutely. Give me two minutes and send me your location._

_:)_

* * *

Prom is surprisingly fun. The punch is good, the DJ is bribable to play both meme songs and a version of Kon’s newest single, “My Dad Wants Me To Be A CEO But I Just Want To Be A Gay Farmer,” which… well, he’s getting better at that E-Flat Chord, that’s for sure.

“Hi,” Cass says from beside her, and Steph turns to stare.

“Cass! You’re—wow!”

Cass’s hair is shiny and freshly trimmed. Someone had helped her apply makeup, so she has elaborately sparkly eyeshadow and incredible eyeliner. And her dress…

It’s black and floor length, and patterned in silver beads from the high neckline to the knees, forming beautiful spiral and star patterns. At the knees, the skirt ruffles out, turning into a glorious frill. It’s sleeveless, but the collar is high and beaded like a necklace, with a sheer mesh front allowing for a neckline to still exist.

Cass sparkles in the dim lights of the school gymnasium, and Steph is _mesmerized _by her.

“I—you look great,” Steph says.

Cass beams, smoothing down her dress. “Dick helped me do my makeup,” she says. “And find the dress.”

“Well he did a good job,” Steph says, stepping closer. “Do you… want to dance?”

Cass blinks at her, surprised.

“Sure,” she says.

Steph tentatively takes her hand, and leads Cass to the dance floor.

She’s danced with Cass before—at the Cave, with the bass beating and the club mania carrying them through the motions, even if Cass is a thousand times more graceful than anyone else on the dance floor could ever hope to be, Steph included.

But this… is different. It’s a slow dance at a prom, and all of the couples are standing with their hands on each other, slowly moving in a circle. A few couples are plastered against each other, moony-eyed or groping by turn, but mostly, it’s awkward and painful, none of them sure what to do.

And even despite that, Steph’s heart is in her throat as she can Cass joint the couples, Cass’s hand on her waist, Steph’s hand on Cass’s shoulder, their other hand gripping each other as they join everyone else in swaying and moving in a slow, awkward circle.

But despite this, despite everything, Cass looks _happy_, relaxed in a way that she hasn’t since Cain arrived in town, since everything went horribly wrong, and Steph finds herself calming for what feels like the first time in ages.

Because this is Cass, who understands, more than anyone else possibly could, what it means, and who she is. Who sees her for herself, both the Slayer and the girl. Cass, who’s wonderful and amazing and far, far too good for Steph, but Steph is giddy from the contact and the fog machine, and she screws her courage to the sticking place, and forces herself to say the words that are first and foremost on her mind.

“You look… beautiful, Cass,” Steph says, swallowing a lump.

Cass smiles at her. “So do you.”

Steph looks at her, and wonders if Cass would stop her if she tried to kiss her. Or… if maybe, she’d kiss her back.

The song changes, and the beat picks up. Other students pour onto the dance floor, the couples break apart, and the moment is lost.

Cass and Steph dance with their friends, in circles, eating cookies and drinking punch, laughing and shouting over the music, and just letting themselves be teenagers… for just one night.

* * *

“Cute,” David Cain says, watching from the distance. “She looks great in that dress, doesn’t she? Really brings out her eyes.”

“As you say,” the vampire says, waving aside his employer’s fascination with a group of high schoolers. “But sir, aren’t we on a deadline?”

“Right, of course,” Cain says, sighing and getting back into the car. “Well, all the pieces are almost in place, anyways. Just need my little girl to come back so we can set up the big finale.”

“Sir, it’s been weeks, and she still hasn’t contacted you,” Alpha says. “If your contacts in the Council can get us that drug the Council uses—”

“Oh, there’s no need for that, Alpha,” Cain replies amiably, starting the car. “Cassie will come to me… oh, this time in two days, I think.”

“Sir?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cain says. “Everything’s on schedule, I assure you.”

* * *

“Ow,” Cass says, frowning as she feels a small sting on her arm. She looks, and frowns as she sees a strange, small bug there.

She squishes it, and it bleeds orange.

“Ew,” she says, wiping it off with a napkin, and then throwing it in the trash.

She goes back to join her friends to learn to do something called the “Cha Cha Slide,” not knowing that a clock has just started ticking in her own bloodstream.


	10. wish i could slay your demons: part v

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cass befriends a mysterious amnesiac named Michael, just in time to make a life-changing mistake. Steph feels completely out of her depth, but she's not going to let Cass go through this alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm so sorry about the delay; what was supposed to be the finale exploded on me and became a two-part monstrosity, plus the characters didn't want to follow my outline at all. So, we get a Monday update instead of a Friday update! Hopefully you all can forgive me for the chapter taking as long as it did, because I'm super excited for this chapter. 
> 
> Warnings are VERY spoilery for this chapter, so they're in the end notes.

_David Cain was born a long, long time ago._

_He doesn’t remember the name of his parents, he discarded that memory in the centuries that followed, deeming it unimportant for the things that were to come._

_But he is a Watcher, that was for sure, the scion of a minor but distinctive lineage, a good bloodline._

_He spends the days studying the Slayer, the Powers that had created them, the magic that flowed within them. A power so immense that the Council did not understand it, and feared it, and had spent centuries attempting to control it, to warp it, to bend it to their will._

_They fear it. But he… doesn’t. He wants it. He wants to know it, to understand it, to hold it in his hand and have it to command._

_But how he is to do that… he isn’t sure._

_Eventually, he reaches the appropriate age and plays the correct political games and he is appointed to Watch a young Potential._

_He teaches her as the manuals and traditions require, until she is five years old, when he realizes how flawed they were._

_Cain does his best, but she turns eighteen, and is not Called, and he immediately petitions for a second Potential, sending his First off to work as a Latin tutor in the home of a high ranking Watcher with three sons, and sets to work again._

_This time he raises his Potential from birth, but still, she does not get Called, despite the magnificence of her training and skill._

_Cain does not petition for a third Potential, not just yet. His Second, he keeps around as an assistant, while he looks for his answers._

_Eventually, it leads him to the Serpent Queen._

_Eons ago, her lover betrayed her and cast her into the Masak Mavdil, the deepest darkest part of Hell, the place where demons send the worst among them. It is a place of nightmares and blood, but she has been patient, waiting for him._

_A path from her prison, he will create for her. In exchange, she will teach him her arts so that he may master the power of the Slayer, and keep him alive so that when the day comes…_

_He can Ascend, alongside her._

_A little magic means that the Council easily forgets that he is not the son of the previous Cain, but still the same man. They do not notice that he has been the same man for centuries, but they praise his methods, his bloodline, his training. His former Potentials are sought after as field assistants, for they live up to a decade longer than any other Potential, but over the years he keeps them more and more to himself, to help him train his new ones._

_He learns to ensure that a baby is a Potential, first. Sometimes, they’re his children, but not always, although he finds that he prefers it when they are, since he can be sure of their bloodline, that way._

_He goes out to the Americas, when they’re still new, and he finds some people planning a town._

_It is no trouble to lure them to a site a little further south than they had been planning, a site that he had already consecrated for his patron, a Hellmouth. The closest point in the world between the Earth and the Masak Mavdil, a place where demons and vampires will flock, drawn to the power and the darkness._

_He ends up coming and going from the town over the years, suggesting the placement of a building here, ensuring that the town is layered in magical curses, charms, and demons._

_Gotham, the people call it, and Cain likes the name, and so does his Patron._

_ A vampire named Black Mask sets up court, and Cain encourages him, knowing the dark magic a creature like that can cause. A Slayer dies, trapping him beneath the city, and her death feeds the Hellmouth._

_Two Slayers, he raises during the years after the foundation of Gotham. They’re beautiful, magnificent…_

_But they are not enough. Through them he can sense the dark power, but he still can’t reach it._

_His first girl dies young, overconfident, and arrogant in her training, throwing herself at an old and powerful vampire who is not strong, but he is clever, and he drains her dry, and becomes more powerful for it._

_Cain is furious, because he had use for that blood._

_He takes no chances with his second Slayer, ensuring she only takes on fights she is capable of handling, never letting her go far out of his sight._

_She’s a bit of a disappointment, having only ended up in his care at the ripe old age of seven, a Slayer through natural means, not his own machinations._

_On her eighteenth birthday, when they send him a monster for the Cruciamentum, he does not send her to fight it._

_Instead, he takes her into a room, wishes her a happy birthday, tells her to close her eyes to make a wish, and slits her throat with a dagger._

_Her blood is useful and powerful, and he knows that in it, there is the key to the power of the Slayer._

_His next Slayer… will be perfect._

_He takes his time, of course. All of his Potentials are his daughters from here on out, but none of them turn out quite right, and he stops the rituals before too long, not wanting them to be Called, not when they’re not the right anchor for the darkness, not when they’re not strong enough._

_When he finds Shiva though…_

_He knows, even before he lays his eyes on his baby girl for the first time, that he’s finally found his One._

_And his Patron agrees._

_It’s time for debts to be paid._

* * *

Cass gets home from Prom late. After dancing, they had gone to someone’s house, where there had been people drinking beer, singing karaoke, and playing some dancing video game.

The part is at Kon’s house, as it turns out, so Kon and Tim vanish into his bedroom almost as soon as they get there, and only emerge an hour later, hair a mess, and both of them grinning dopily.

Harper and Carrie are easily spotted, curled up on a couch in the corner, kissing as if their lives depended on it.

“Should we be worried?” Cass asks Steph, gesturing to them. “She is a demon.”

“Past tense,” Steph says with a shrug. “And anyways, Harper knows how to call for help if Carrie changes her mind and tries to kill her.”

Having rescued Harper from several of her dates, Cass supposes that Steph has a point.

Duke convinces Cass to try the dancing video game, which Cass determines to be _extremely _entertaining, and she ends up beating the high score of someone named Bart, who apparently is an old friend of Kon’s from his last school.

Cass even tries the beer that Kon offers her, but it tastes disgusting, and she tells him so after spitting it out.

“Yeah, it’s gross,” he agrees. “But people don’t come to parties if you don’t have it.”

“We’d come,” Cass points out.

“Yeah, but if it’s just us, we’ll end up talking about monsters and stuff, and that’s not the point of a night off,” Kon explains in a surprisingly matter-of-fact way.

Cass looks at Steph, who is currently attempting to do some sort of strange dance while Tim and Duke sing about a Russian queen’s lover to accompany her. Steph is sweaty, her hair and makeup still done from Prom, but her dress discarded in favor of a pair of baggy green shorts and a tank top. She’s laughing as she dances, and for once, Cass can see that Steph isn’t troubled by what may come next. She’s not even worried about patrol; Jason and Dick are keeping an eye on things, and Babs has promised that their phones will only ring for an end-of-the-world event.

“It’s good for her,” Cass says, thinking back to Duke’s comments about hobbies, about being someone besides just the Slayer.

“It’s good for all of us,” Kon says, easily slinging an arm over her shoulder. “To just be… kids, you know. We’re almost done with high school! Most of us are picking colleges or applying for jobs or, in my case, planning on seeing what exactly it takes to get yourself disowned by one of the wealthiest men in America.”

Cass looks at him, sees his shit-eating grin, and ducks to hide her smile. “Steph is lucky to have friends like you,” she says.

Kon gives her a look. “Cassie. You know we’re _your _friends too, right?”

Cass pauses.

“Like, we don’t only invite you to things because you’re the other Slayer, or because Steph likes you. We hang out with you because we like you. Because you’re awesome, not just as the badass flips and shit Slayer, but as Cass, the girl who eats all of the chocolate out of my trail mix and likes to dance to my awful music.” He looks at her face. “You know that, right?”

“I…” Cass looks around, and feels her heart threaten to burst in her chest, overflowing with warmth and affection for all of them. “I guess I do.”

* * *

Cass is on patrol, picking her way through the cemeteries. Steph and Babs are going through the county museum the next town over to look for cursed artifacts, so Cass is on her own today, although Jason offered to come with her.

She’d declined.

It’s nice, to be alone, sometimes. She’s not used to all this company, all this chatter. She loves it, but every now and then, she finds herself craving solitude and silence, a break from the others, with their overwhelming touches, words, and questions.

Dick has been trying to give her space, to not ask her too much about Cain, but he wants to, but the thing is, Cass isn’t sure how much she has to _tell_.

The only thing she can think of that might help them, is about the man on the boat, and her stomach churns just thinking about it.

She’s the _Slayer_. She’s not a murderer.

Except that she is.

She finds the fight ongoing amid one of the further out graveyards; a man in a battered suit fighting for his life against three vampires.

He’s holding his own, which is surprising. He’s skilled, and strong, but he’s outnumbered, and while he’s good, he’s not _that _good, so Cass steps in to interfere.

He reels back in surprise as she leaps forward, her stake in hand, and dusts the three vampires in rapid succession. The last one, panicking, tries to shove the man out of the way, and he topples forward, his head colliding with a gravestone moments before Cass releases her stake from her hand for a distance staking.

She goes to check on the man, who is bleeding from his forehead, and seems to be dazed.

“I—what?” He asks, blinking at her. “Are they—what?”

Cass frowns. “They were vampires,” she tells him. “They’re gone now. What’s your name?”

“I—” The man blinks at her, in surprise. “I don’t know.”

Cass escorts the man, identified by his driver’s license as Michael, back to Bruce.

“Judging from your tattoos,” Bruce says, examining the identifying mark on his arm. It’s a large, coiling snake, orange in color, mouth open to expose fangs. “I’d say you’re a magic user of some sort. Not a proper magician, but that you use magic to enhance your strength and speed.”

“Makes sense,” Cass says, crossing her legs and sitting on the library table. “Can you… help him?”

“I’ll try,” Bruce says, smiling at her for a moment, before glancing over at Tim. “Tim, do you mind—”

Tim’s mouth is a thin line. He’s still mad at Bruce for the thing with Steph.

Cass… isn’t sure how she feels about that. Bruce is—was? —Steph’s Watcher. That’s what Watchers do. They test you, prepare you, push you to the limits. She’d gone through her own version of the Cruciamentum when she was thirteen years old, drugged until she could barely move and locked in a room with three vampires.

She’d killed them all, of course, but it had been one of the hardest fights of her life. Even now, she carries a scar from it, a diagonal slash from her right collarbone to her diaphragm.

But… Steph is very upset. The others are too.

It’s frustrating because Cass _should _be upset, should be angry, but she… isn’t sure how. How would she go about that?

He’s Bruce; he’s kind and presses his hands against her shoulder. He gave her a home and a bed and brothers. She never has to work for her food, and he lets her sleep in and gives her things without needing to earn them.

She’s not… sure, how to be angry with him.

And that’s worrying, she must admit.

Steph returns from Blüdhaven with a cursed vase in hand. She greets Michael curiously, examines his tattoo for herself, and then goes back to her house to sleep until school starts, all without making eye contact with Bruce.

“Go get some sleep,” Dick tells her, giving her a warm smile. “We’ll deal with everything else later.”

Cass goes, but her dreams are flooded in orange flashing lights, her father’s voice, and Michael’s tattoo. She wakes up before the school day ends and goes back to the library.

It’s too early to patrol; she and Steph had killed the last nest of vampires they knew about the weekend before Prom, and most demons can’t tolerate the sunlight. Magical creatures are a fairly nocturnal bunch, with the ability to walk in daylight being a prized skill, and a sign of true power.

The others are in class, but Michael is there, sleeping in Bruce’s office.

Cass rubs her arm, and tries to read some of the books that Bruce left on the table, but her Latin is garbage and her Sumerian isn’t even worth mentioning, so she finds herself taking out her cell phone, the one that Babs had given her, and opening up the internet app.

Google is a very useful tool, but Cass isn’t sure how to phrase her question.

_What kind of magic does a snake tattoo do?_

She stares at results that discuss symbolism and luck, but the way they talk about magic makes her think they don’t really know what they’re talking about.

She hits the back button and tries again.

_Michael Sommers_

There’s an actor that shows up, but he doesn’t look anything like Michael. Scrolling down further, she finds social media profiles for various people, but again, none of them seem to be quite right.

Frustrated, she presses the back button again.

Morbid curiosity strikes.

_David Ca—_

“Cass? You’re here early,” Duke says, entering the library.

“So are you,” she points out.

“It’s study hall,” Duke says. “I wanted to swap out the volumes on immortality I was researching, I’m mostly done with this one, but I do want Dick to double-check my translation, he’s way better at Sumerian than I am—is something wrong?”

“No. Yes? I don’t know.” Cass powers down her phone and shoves it into her pocket. “I feel… itchy.”

“Like… a rash?”

“No like. Under my skin. Energy.”

“Like, you’ve got too much energy?” Duke says, sitting in one of the chairs. “What’s the matter, did you only do two laps around Gotham rather than five?”

Cass frowns at him.

Duke laughs and pats her leg. “Did you get enough sleep?”

“No.”

“You’re probably just wired from some stressful days. Your dad being in town’s probably doing a number on you.” He gives her a cautious look. “Like how Steph was, when Jason was being… all evil and vampire-y.”

Cass frowns. “Maybe,” she says.

He snorts. “Sis, I love you, but you do remember that you’re human, right?” He joins her on the table and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “You’re amazing and all, but even you get anxious sometimes. If it lasts too long, or you start noticing other symptoms, let us know, but if you’re just feeling antsy…”

“I think so,” Cass says, although there’s a heavy pit of doubt in her stomach, and she’s not sure _why_. She pauses. “Sis?”

“Is that okay?” He asks, immediately releasing her shoulder. “I just—”

“It’s fine,” she says. She smiles. “I like it.” Thinking for a moment, she squints at him. “Bro?”

“Oh God, no, Duke is fine,” he laughs, holding up his hands in mock-surrender.

Cass smiles wider, and leans against Duke, trying to soak up some of his calm and stillness, trying to quiet the jittering feeling that continues to build in her chest.

* * *

“So, do you have a plan to like, tie me to an altar and try to sacrifice me to your dark god or something?” Harper asks Carrie after their second date.

Carrie stops. “No… but like, if you’re into that, I can probably find some rope and a ceremonial knife.”

“No that’s—Carrie _wait_, I don’t actually want you to sacrifice me!”

“Oh good,” Carrie says, opening her locker to get her textbook. “Eating your heart is definitely a fifth date conversation.”

“I—_what_?”

“Well, I assumed you’re interested in a more romantic ritual, and—”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” Harper says.

Carrie shrugs, brightly. “Don’t worry. You’re too cute to sacrifice.” She kisses Harper on the cheek, and then heads to class.

Harper grins dopily for a moment, then pauses. “_You shouldn’t be sacrificing **anyone**_!” She calls after her girlfriend, belatedly.

A passing teacher gives her a weird look, and Harper flushes, slams her locker shut, and power walks to study hall.

* * *

There are two letters for Steph waiting for her on the counter.

“Both on the same day?” Steph asks, looking at her mom.

“Yep,” Crystal says.

“Bad news first, right?” Steph says, grabbing the first envelope. It’s small, and fancy, and the logo reads _Berkeley_.

She opens it with the fancy letter opener Bruce had bought her mother as a birthday present.

She’d only applied because Bruce had suggested it; because the thought was with Cass around, maybe it’d be okay if she goes further away from college. It was dumb, applying there, because there’s no way she can afford it, even if she could get in, but…

It’s dumb, but she misses California. She misses the Pacific, and the warmth and the sunlight…

“Well?” Crystal says, sipping her coffee.

Steph swallows.

“I—”

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted—_

She stares at it, trying to read the rest of the letter, but it all is a blur.

She could do it; she recognizes faintly. Cass is still here, and Bruce isn’t even Steph’s real Watcher anymore. She could just… go. Pull up roots, move to California, fight evil over there. She could study whatever she wanted, make new friends, never deal with another Gotham winter, never have to taste the Atlantic Ocean on her lips after a foggy morning again, reminding her of the cold, clammy press, the bite on her neck—she could go. Far, far, away from Gotham, all the way to sunny, beautiful, California. California, which is still if she’s being honest with herself, _home_.

All she’d have to do is leave her friends. Leave Cass behind to face the Hellmouth on her own.

It would be so easy. No one would even blame her. Not with another Slayer to hold down the fort, not when Harper’s talking about Northwestern and Tim’s dreaming about MIT. It’s what you’re supposed to do, after high school, isn’t it? Move away. Meet new people.

No one would blame her.

She crumples up the letter in her fist, and her mother sighs with pity.

“Oh _Steph_—”

“No big deal,” she says, throwing it in the trash can, before she grabs the next envelope, the big one with the Gotham University logo, and forces a huge grin at the acceptance letter.

“I’m so proud of you,” Crystal says, hugging Steph tightly. “Gotham’s got some _great _programs.”

“I know,” Steph says, hugging her mom back, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder and her dreams of California sunshine in the back of her mind. “I know.”

* * *

Cass hasn’t quite regained her balance when she goes on patrol the next night. Michael volunteers to come along with her, and Bruce lets him, since Steph and Jason are investigating rumors about a nest of demon eggs. 

Michael is surprisingly good company. His license says he’s twenty, and he’s quiet, and thoughtful. He only speaks to ask Cass for information about a cemetery, a weapon, or a monster they’ve just killed.

They’re at the harbor, because Cass has been hearing rumors that her father has been spotted around here, when Michael grabs her, and points.

Vampires.

_Lots _of vampires.

Cass grabs her stake, tosses Mister Pointy to Michael, and throws herself into the heat of things.

There are lots of them, and she moves fast, spinning, pressing a stake through a heart, kicking, flipping, staking, punching.

When the last of them is dust, she turns to Michael, whose hand is pressed against his tattoo, breathing hard, blood streaked across his face.

She takes a step towards him, to check if he’s alright, when someone touches her arm.

Adrenaline sings in her veins. Her vision is tinted that strange shade of orange. Her stomach churns with that same off-balance feeling that has followed her through the entire patrol.

She spins around and plunges her stake into a heart.

A beating, warm, human heart.

A woman stares at her, eyes wide in surprise, and she falls backwards, Cass’s stake still buried in her ribs, blood trickling from her mouth.

“No!” Cass yells, and she scrambles forward, falling onto her knees, pressing her hands against the woman’s neck. “Call an ambulance!”

“Cass,” Michael whispers. “It’s too late.”

He’s right. There’s no heartbeat, the woman’s eyes wide open, unseeing.

“We—”

“Cassandra,” Michael says, his arm cool on her arm. “We need to move. We can’t be found here, you’ll be arrested.”

“But—”

“We need to go!”

Her hands are covered in blood.

She lets Michael pull her to her feet, grab her hand, and pull her away from the scene, but she stares at the woman’s face, framed with damp brown hair and strange scars on her face, until they turn a corner and she loses sight of the body.

He sits her down, after a while. “I’ll take care of things,” he says, offering her a smile.

And then he leaves.

* * *

Steph is on her way back from smashing demon eggs with Jason when she finds Cass, kneeling on the ground on the sidewalk, only a few yards away from the Dockside Cemetery.

“Cass?” Steph says, worried.

Cass looks up at her, and Steph starts. Cass’s face is blotchy and puffy and damp, and her hands…

Her hands are covered in blood.

“Cass!” Steph says, dropping to her knees to check her for injuries. Like this, they’re the same height for once, as Steph grabs her fellow Slayer’s hands with her own.

“Where are you hurt? What happened? Where’s Michael?”

“Not hurt,” Cass whispers, her voice ragged.

Steph looks into Cass’s eyes. “Cass?”

“It happened,” Cass says, another fresh tear falling. It runs down the curve of her cheek, and Steph lets go of Cass’s hand to brush it away.

“What happened?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Cassie, you’re scaring me,” Steph says, splaying her fingers against Cass’s face, which is flushed and warm to the touch. “You didn’t mean to do what?”

“Kill her.” Cass’s eyes sink closed. “She was behind me, and I—”

Steph’s breath hitches in her chest. “Cass—”

“I did it. She’s dead.”

“Oh Cass,” Steph breathes.

It’s started to rain, a faint drizzle coming down around them, filling the air with a mist. Cass’s tears are lost amongst the raindrops.

Steph pulls Cass into a tight hug, and Cass’s bloody hands clench in her shirt, and Cass gives in, and starts to sob.

“It’s going to be okay,” Steph promises. “I’m going to make it okay.”

“No,” Cass says. “You can’t.”

“I will. I promise.”

The words are hollow, and they both know it, but Cass just clings to her tighter, the two of them staying there, kneeling in the blood and the rain, for a long, long time.

* * *

Eventually, Jason comes and finds them. He drives them to the school, and Cass flinches under his gaze, knowing he can smell the blood on her.

She doesn’t say anything, and neither does Steph, who sits next to her in the back seat, rather than taking her customary shotgun position. Her arms stay around Cass’s shoulder the entire time, as if she can protect Cass from what is coming.

In the library, Steph finally lets go of Cass, but only to fetch blankets to wrap around her.

“I’ll find Bruce,” Steph whispers. “Or Dick. Or Babs. Or—someone. I’ll find someone.”

Hesitating, Steph drops a kiss on Cass’s forehead, and then leaves, dripping water as she goes.

“I’ve taken care of it,” Michael says, and she blinks, surprised, at his presence.

She blinks, and stares at him.

He’s… different, somehow.

“What?”

“I got rid of the body. No one will know,” Michael says. He smiles at her, reaching out and taking her hand.

She lets him, and it’s then she realizes that something’s wrong.

His hand is cold, and there’s an itch in the back of her mind.

She jerks her hand away, some of the numbness leaving her.

“You’re—”

He smiles. “Yes,” he says. “I remembered.”

“How?” Cass whispers. “I should have—_Steph _should have.”

“The other Slayer was tricky,” he admits. “But your father taught me a few tricks.”

Cass scrambles to her feet. “He sent you?”

“He didn’t send me. I forgot. And you found me.” He smiles at her. “And you helped me. I’m just repaying the favor.”

“_Repay_?”

“I won’t let them touch you,” he says. “Not the Watchers, not the police. The Watchers will lock you up in a tiny little room, full of that drug of theirs, and the police will just bring you down the same path, in the end…”

“I deserve it,” Cass says.

“No, you don’t. I’ve got a plan. We can fix this. No one has to know.”

The fact that Steph knows bubbles up in her throat, but she says nothing.

“What?”

“Come with me. Your father—”

And it’s then that Cass realizes something.

She’s seen the woman before.

She’d worked with Cain.

She’d given Cass Mister Pointy.

She reaches out, into Michael’s jacket pocket, and reclaims the bronzed stake, with clumsy fingers.

At least Michael had been holding it. At least Cass hadn’t repaid the woman’s kindness with this.

Cass hadn’t even known her _name_.

Cass looks at Michael again.

His sleeve is rolled up, exposing his tattoo. The black outline of the snake, curling around his forearm, the fanged face looking like it’s about to bite.

Cass swallows, and turns away.

“They’re going to lock you away,” he repeats. “I won’t let that happen.”

“I need—” Cass swallows, her tongue heavy with self-hatred. “I need to get my weapons.”

“Okay,” he says, smiling at her, and there’s a smugness to it that she hates.

She turns around and flees the library, and Michael’s smile.

* * *

David Cain is a patient man. He must be, to have lived as long as he has, to have planned and survived, all to reach that one, single goal.

But he admits a rush of triumph and satisfaction when Cassandra enters his office, a bag of weapons slung over her shoulder.

Blood is streaked across her clothes, and she strongly resembles a drowned creature, waterlogged from what is rapidly turning into an impressive thunderstorm.

It really hadn’t taken much, in the end. The drug in her bloodstream just gave her the slightest push, made her vulnerable to Alpha’s game, and a more likely to agree to what Cain says.

“Cassie,” he says, holding out his arms to her.

She launches herself at him, burying her face in his shirt. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to—”

He presses a kiss against her forehead and runs a hand through her hair soothingly. “Of course, you didn’t mean to kill poor Maddie. I’ll miss her terribly. We all will.”

“Why was she—”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “She’s been acting… strange, lately. Perhaps she was even looking for you.”

The little gasping noise she makes is definitely a sob.

He pulls away from her and tilts her face towards him. Tears have spilled from her eyes, leaving damp tracks on her cheeks.

“It’s fine, Cassie,” he tells her. “She was a Potential. They all die, in the end.” He brushes a tear away with a finger. “You and I know that these things happen. But your new Watcher… and that menace of a man who he answers to… he wouldn’t, would he? He’d want to lock you away, give you that awful little drug that he gave his own pet Slayer.”

Cass looks down. “He’s…”

“Dick Grayson has potential,” he says. “But he’s far too experienced to be _your _Watcher.” He smiles at her. “You deserve nothing but the _best_.” He puts a hand on her shoulder. “He’s too beholden to Wayne. Slade shouldn’t have let him out so soon… should have kept a closer eye on him. I can’t imagine what the man was thinking, letting him out of England so soon.”

He shows Cassie her bedroom, which he’s prepared exactly like her childhood one.

“I know you’re angry at me,” he says. “I know you have questions. But everything I’ve done, is to ensure that you are going to be the strongest Slayer that has ever lived.”

“But… why?” Cass says.

“Because the Council is wrong,” he says. “They’re scared of the Slayers; of the power you have. But I know better.” He smiles at her. “Because I raised you. Your control is absolute, and your power… close to it.”

“Close?”

“We’ll talk more later,” he says, smiling at her. “Get some rest.”

* * *

“She’s gone?” Bruce repeats, his voice thunderous.

“Yes,” Steph says. There’s a blossoming purple bruise on her cheek. “She just… hit me. Knocked me right out.”

“Why?” Babs says, leaning forward. “Why would she do that?”

Steph bites her lip and looks away. “I don’t know,” she lies.

She can’t tell them about the body. She _can’t_.

“She’ll come back,” Tim offers, but he looks nervous.

“She took her weapons bag,” Duke says.

“Stephanie,” Bruce says, towering over her. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Maybe if Babs had been the one to ask, she would have cracked.

But it’s Bruce.

“I don’t know, Bruce,” she says. “Was there something you didn’t tell me _on my birthday_? Like, say, the fact that you were drugging me against my will and planning on feeding me to a homicidal vampire?” She taps her fingers against her chin. “Oh wait! That’s exactly what you did!”

She storms out, Duke and Tim following her.

“Okay, what’s really going on?” Duke demands, once they get to the parking lot.

“Someone’s framed Cass for murder,” Steph says. “And we’re going to prove her innocence.”

“What?”

“Cass told me she staked somebody. That she was too slow to realize it was a human, and so she died.”

“I mean… that sounds like an accident,” Duke offers. “Not murder.”

“_Cass_,” Steph repeats. “Was _too slow_.”

“… you think this is a trick or something?”

“I think I’m not going to believe that Cass was too slow and too distracted to notice a human walked into the middle of a fight until I triple check every last thing,” Steph says, firmly. “It’s _Cass_.”

“So… this is why Cass stormed off? Because she thought she killed someone?”

“I guess,” Steph says. “I left her the library and she kind of… freaked out. I think something’s wrong.”

“Well, let’s figure it out,” Tim says. “So are we breaking into the police station to find the body or something?”

“Don’t think so,” Steph says, wrenching open the passenger door to Duke’s car. “Because someone who wasn’t Cass moved the body.”

“Oh, that’s not suspicious at all,” Duke observes, but he starts the car anyways.

* * *

Morning passes, and afternoon comes, and then his daughter emerges from her sleep, her hair wild and her eyes red. “Are we… leaving?” Cass asks. “Going home?”

He laughs, ruffling her hair. “Gotham is home, Cassie.”

She stares at him in confusion, blinking sleep away. “What?”

“Macau was just a place,” he says. “It was convenient because it was out of the Council’s gaze. But Gotham… we were always meant to be here. The Hellmouth is where we belong.”

“Was Shiva really my mother?” She blurts. “She said—”

“She gave birth to you,” he says with a nod. “But your mother… she never wanted you, Cassie. Not like I did. She threw you aside like you were nothing.” He touches her chin and angles her face towards him. “But I love you. I know you’ve had fun, playing games with Wayne and his gaggle of children. Maybe you’ve made friends. But we both know that they don’t really understand you.”

“Steph,” Cass protests weakly.

“Not even her,” David says. “She hasn’t seen the depth of the power; not like you have. Have you even told her about it? Shown her what you can _really _do? Or have you been forced to hide, to tamp down on what you really are, because it’s _wrong_?”

Her eyes tell him he’s right on the money. “She’s not your equal, Cassie, and if they told you that, they’re wrong. She’s untrained, dependent on Wayne for her very survival. If he was to die or disappear, she’d be dead within the week.” He smiles. “Unlike you. You did just fine without me.”

Cass looks down. “But—”

“You _have _no equal,” he says, stroking her hair. “You have powers that she couldn’t dream of. All she does is hold you back.”

“We fight… well together.”

He smiles. “So, she doesn’t slow you down? Get distracted? Have strange priorities? Tell you to, say, take nights off patrolling, spend time with friends?”

Cass closes her eyes, and another tear rolls down her cheek.

“She’s a subpar Slayer who’s using you to keep herself alive. She’s incompetent, but she’s also dangerous, especially when you cross her.”

“No. She’s… Steph.”

“She killed her father, Cassie. Threw him out of a window, fed him to vampires.” He cradles her face in his hands. “You’ve seen her quick temper. You’ve also seen how soft she is, when it can be a threat, just because she’s ruled by her feelings. She should have killed the Red Hood the moment he lost his soul. But she let him live. How many people died because of that?”

“But—we saved him.”

“There was no way of knowing that. And is his life worth all the people he killed in the meantime? You could have _died_ when the Joker attacked.” He touches her neck, where he can still see the scars. The fact that he could have lost her… “And she would have been fine with it, because of her silly infatuation with the vampire.”

“Infatuation?”

“Didn’t you know?” He says, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen them, in the cemeteries. Late at night. Kisses, stolen in the dark. Hands being held. Teenaged romance, nothing more, but she nearly let the world end because of it.’

The lie hits solidly, and Cass reels back. As he suspected, Cassie’s harboring a bit of a crush. “But—”

“Did you think she cared about you? That she wanted you?” He laughs. “She’s nothing but a selfish teenaged girl who never wanted the very thing you’ve spend your entire life fighting for. She throws away everything the Powers have given her on pointlessly chasing after a normal life and screwing vampires in graveyards. You were just a way to keep herself alive, because you can do things she never could dream of.”

“No,” Cassie says, but she’s wilting, her eyes damp. He can almost see her heart breaking, and he feels a pang of regret. If only his girl had fallen for a nice, normal girl, rather than the biggest obstacle between them and their destiny. 

“She’s holding you back, baby girl,” he says. “Literally.”

She looks up at him with wide eyes. Eyes so much like her mother’s. “What?”

“There’s not meant to be two Slayers. So you’re tapping into the power… but it’s not all there. Because she’s taking some of it for herself.” He shakes his head. “But! That’s talk for tomorrow. For now, get some sleep. In the morning we can talk.”

“No,” Cass says. “Talk… now? I can’t… I don’t want to sleep. I’m not tired.”

He laughs. “Same old Cassie. Fine, let’s go to my study. We can spar while we talk.”

She’s too used to fighting with someone by her side. Months of fighting alongside another Slayer has made her complacent. She doesn’t watch her back the way she should. Her corners are lazy, and she’s not moving at full speed.

Grayson has been _remiss, _the fool. Holding her back.

But no longer.

“My creditors are coming calling,” he says, swinging his staff. She ducks, rolls, and comes up behind him, tapping him lightly on the ribs with her fist. “Good. Again, but faster. To make the preparations, I’m moving things into place. Alpha’s been helping me; you’ll meet some of my other helpers as we go.”

“Preparations for… what?” She does the roll perfectly this time, tight and quick, nearly a blur to his vision.

“Much better,” he praises. “Now, let’s see you do it on the other side. You’re favoring the left because Brown is right-handed, yes? Clumsy of Wayne not to try to get her to ambidexterity, although I suppose he did have a late start.” The staff flashes out. “My patron is a powerful demon, Cass. And I’ve been instructed to open up the Hellmouth to release her from her prison.” He frowns. “Clumsy. Do it again. Take it slow, until you get it right.” He’s not even close to hitting her, of course, but it’s a good reminder of the price of failure.

“In exchange for us opening the Hellmouth for her, she’ll raise us up. You will be the first Slayer to ever see her thirtieth birthday.”

He makes Cass do the move twenty more times until he’s satisfied that she’s unlearned the bad habit of correcting for Stephanie Brown’s presence.

“Now Cassie, I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he says, mopping his forehead. “But honestly, with Maddie dead and all, I’m a little short-staffed, especially when it comes to people I can trust.”

Cass’s eyes drop at the mention of Maddie. “I’ll help,” she says.

He laughs. “Good girl.”

* * *

Between them they’ve got a Slayer, a magician, and a Watcher in training. Maybe weighing a body down and dumping it in the harbor would stop normal people from finding it for a little while, but when Tim and Duke tell her where to go, Steph dives down and drags the body back up to the surface.

“This is gross,” Duke says quietly, kneeling at the woman’s head. “… hey that’s weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“Well, Cass staked her, right?” Duke asks, prodding the woman’s shoulder. “So why is there a crossbow bolt here?”

Steph shifts the clothes, which have been arranged as if to conceal it.

“Can you get it out?” Tim asks.

“Gross. But yes.”

She yanks it out and hands it over.

Tim removes a pouch of something from the pocket of Kon’s letterman jacket and sprinkles it over the bolt. It glows green.

“What’s that mean?”

“It means it was poisoned,” Tim says. “She was poisoned before she even encountered Cass.”

“Well that’s not shady at _all_,” Duke says dryly.

* * *

They go to the kitchen, where a big bowl of her favorite, sugary, chocolaty cereal is waiting for her. Her eyes light up. He’s sure she hasn’t had it since he left, since it’s hard to find outside of China.

“Ah Alpha! You’re burning the daylight oil, aren’t you?” He greats.

“Just wanted to check in on Cass, boss,” Alpha says with a smile. The man’s charming, and apparently was so even without his memories.

Cass waves slightly.

“I think, since you two got along so well, that you and he could do your first errand together, how’s that sound, Cassie?”

She nods, shoveling more of the cereal into her mouth. “What’s the job?”

“We’ll start small. I just need you to get a medallion from a grave,” he says.

She frowns. “That’s… it?”

“For now,” he says.

She frowns. “A test?”

“I do need it,” he tells her. “But I don’t think you’re ready for the big steps yet.”

“No! I’m ready. I want to help.”

Her eyes, he’s pleased to note, are ringed faintly with orange. The drug is flowing through her system now, lowering her inhibitions and heightening the pain and the fear she’s experiencing. It’s a delicate cocktail, but she’s his daughter, and David knows what to say to get her to behave. Maybe not this quick normally, but the drug is speeding things along nicely. The Council really do have the best toys, even if they don’t like using this one for long, due to side effects.

But he doesn’t need to keep her on it for long. Just long enough that she’s done enough things that she really, really understands that Wayne and his band of moral fools will never have her back.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” She’s nearly feverish with her need to please.

“Well,” he says. “I don’t know. The thing I really need… I don’t think you’re strong enough for it.”

“I—” Cass looks hurt.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Alpha says, playing his part perfectly. “The only problem with that is the other Slayer, right?”

Cass’s eyes light up. “We kill her, and I get stronger! I can help!”

David smiles, but corrects his expression to one of careful concern. “Are you sure? I know you’re… fond of her.”

Perhaps that was a problem, that he had raised her without many connections, so that a useless girl like Stephanie Brown could flutter her lashes at his girl and cause such a deep-stead infatuation. But guilt, a need to please, and drugs to make her suggestible and pliable were a potent combination.

“Yes,” Cass says, gripping her spoon tightly in her hands. “Please.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” he says, regretfully, doing his best to conceal his pride and joy. “Well, I suppose if you’re going to kill a Slayer…”

He crosses the room to the elaborate weapons chest, the one he’s had since he first became a Watcher, all those years ago.

He takes a very special dagger, and gives it to Cass, who draws it out of its sheath, eyes wide.

“It’s pretty,” she says.

“Sharp too,” he says. “It should do you just nicely, don’t you think?”

Cass beams up at him, just like she used to when she was a child, and then stands up on her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek.

He laughs. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

* * *

“You want me to do what?” Babs asks, looking over the brim of her glasses to look at them.

“Check this arrowhead for magical poisons.”

“I’m… _why_?”

They all look at each other, as if debating what they should say.

Finally, Steph steps forward.

“Cass is in trouble. But she’s not telling us anything. We think this is the key.”

Sighing, Babs holds out her hand. “Give it.”

Duke hands it over.

“Tim, grab the blue copy of Steer’s Grimoire, you’ll need to do the spells.” Babs undoes the lock on her chair and moves towards her bank of computers. “My databases are good, but I don’t have the kind of analysis equipment here in the States to do this without magic.”

Tim produces a surprisingly slim volume inlaid with moonstones. “This one?”

“That’s it. Now—”

Steph can’t do anything but wait as Tim does the spells and Babs searches her databases, using the information he gives her.

She sits in the corner with her back to the wall, drawing her knees up to her chest, and stares at her phone, which remains depressingly empty of missed calls or texts.

“You’re really worried, aren’t you?” Duke asks.

“You didn’t see her, Duke,” she says. “She was… fragile. Cass shouldn’t… I don’t _ever _want to see her like that again. Like the whole world has just turned upside down on her, and she doesn’t know what to do or where to go or _anything_.”

Duke sits down next to her.

“She’ll be alright,” he says. “She has you looking out for her. All of us, really, but you’re the badass magic Slayer and all that.”

Steph squeezes her eyes shut. “I just…”

“You still haven’t heard from her,” Duke finishes. “I know. I’m worried too. But we’ll have answers soon, and then we can help her figure out what’s going on. Dick’s out there looking for. So’s Jason and Harper. We’ll find her.”

“I hope you’re right,” she says, feeling like her lips are completely numb.

She forces herself to put away her phone.

She’s eighteen years old, a legal adult. Cass seems to be around the same age, or a little older.

Cass can look after herself… even if Steph doesn’t like it at all.

* * *

Jason finds Steph standing outside of the library, pacing, and muttering to herself, checking her phone constantly.

“Jason!” She says, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Hit another dead end,” he frowns. Something seems off about her. She seems… stressed.

He hasn’t asked questions. Not about finding Steph and Cass in the rain, not the smell of human blood, the stains on their clothes, the exhausted terror that seems to have completely consumed Cass.

“Blondie, what’s wrong?”

“Everything,” she says. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m going to go look for Cass.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Blondie—_Steph_, wait a minute!” He needs to speed up a bit to keep up with her. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know Jason,” Steph says, bordering on hysterical. “Cass is _missing_, and her evil dad’s in town, and he could have her, and—”

“She left under her own power, and Cass is the biggest badass we’ve ever seen,” Jason does his best to keep his voice level. “She’s going to be _fine_. She just needs to… cool down, or something.”

Steph doesn’t acknowledge him or his platitudes, keeping going with her mouth a thin line. She’s not quite running, but with her enhanced Slayer speed, even speed walking brings her to her destination quickly enough.

“Where are we even going?” He asks, exasperated.

“You’re not coming anywhere,” Steph says. “I can do this on my own.”

“Tough,” he says. “I’m your friend, and you’re upset, and I’m not going to let you go through this on your own.”

She stops and looks at him, her carefully controlled expression crumbling before his eyes. Guilt springs to take its place, and he takes a step towards her, carefully so as not to startle her.

“Jason,” she says, hesitantly. “I—Cass—”

Whatever she was going to say, whatever she was going to explain about what had happened to Cass in the rain before he had found them, is interrupted by that weird guy that Cass found the other night crashing through the bushes.

“Steph!” He calls. “It’s Cass, she’s in trouble—”

Steph is a blur of action, charging into the undergrowth, further into the woods without waiting for any further explanation.

Jason grabs Michael’s arm. “What’s happened, what’s wrong?”

A scream pierces the air.

Steph’s scream.

Jason drops Michael’s arm and spins to follow her when an arm wraps around his neck.

“Her idiocy is what’s wrong,” Michael laughs, and it’s only then that Jason realizes that Michael’s skin is perfectly cool, the exact same temperature as his own, and that he can’t hear a heartbeat.

A vampire.

How had they not _noticed_—

The prongs of a taser are pressed up against his ribs, and that’s the last coherent thought he has before he passes out.

He wakes up to the rattle of chains and the taste of ozone on his tongue.

He lurches awake, only to be caught by shackles around his wrist, wrenched above his head and attached to the wall.

“Contestant number one is awake!” Michael says, lounging against a wall, grinning. His manner is completely different than the confused, very human creature that Jason had met in passing in the library. But now, he can’t see how he missed it. The man even shifts his _head _like a predator.

Lurching forward again, only to be caught, Jason spots Steph, slumped against the wall in a sitting position, her hands pulled behind her back and chained there.

“Father wants him?” A familiar voice says, and Jason whips his head around, staring in horror as he spots Cass, standing near Steph, with an unfamiliar dagger at her hip.

“What the _hell_, Cass?”

She looks at him, disdainfully. “Are you sure I can’t stake him?”

“Cain wants him,” Michael says. “I’m sure if you ask nicely, you can have him when he’s done with him.”

She sighs, as if she’s a child being denied a treat.

“What are you _doing_?” Jason demands. “Cass, let us go, what’s wrong with you? We’re your friends.”

“No,” Cass says. “You’re _her _friend.”

“But she’s _your _friend.” The steel is strong, and the angle is too difficult for him to easily pull them out of the wall. He scans his surroundings, not recognizing where they are. It’s some sort of elaborate house, maybe even a mansion, but with a bit of a BDSM dungeon aesthetic.

“But Cain is family,” Cass says, as if it’s that simple. “That’s more important.”

Steph lets out a faint whimper, and stirs, and Cass’s gaze leaves him immediately. She only has eyes for Stephanie Brown as his best friend tries to sit up, and then the chains rattle, and her eyes fly open.

“Cass!” She lunges forward, only to be caught by the chains.

Cass puts her hands on her hips. “Sloppy,” she says. “It only took me three seconds to take you down.”

“What are you—Cass, why am I tied up?” Steph says, shifting her shoulders, as if testing her bonds.

“Because she’s going to kill you,” Michael calls.

Jason’s heart would skip a beat if, you know, it beat at all. Steph goes still.

“Cass?”

“I need to be stronger,” Cass says. “You’re holding me back.”

“That’s crap,” Jason says, straining against his chains. If he pulls his shoulders just so, he might be able to dislocate them, and then he can pull the bolts out of the wall…

“It’s the darkness,” Steph says, numbly. “He wants you to go completely in?”

Cass frowns at her. “You don’t know anything.”

“I—Cass, please, we can talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Michael says. “Unless you want to torture her first, kiddo, I’ll support you if you do. I’m sure she’s been annoying you for months.”

Steph and Cass stare at each other for a long time, then Cass turns away and draws the dagger.

“_You didn’t kill her_!” Steph yells.

Cass stops cold.

“What?”

Steph swallows. “You didn’t kill her. The woman. She was already dead when you stabbed her. There was a spell to cause her to bleed afterwards, but I—I found the body. She’d been shot with a poisoned arrow.” Steph leans forward, staring into Cass’s eyes. “You didn’t kill her Cass, so whatever your dad promised you, whatever he said—”

“You’ve got no idea what you’re even talking about, kid,” Michael drawls, bored. “Kiddo, you’ve ever tortured anyone before? Come over here, I’ve got some toys for you to play with.”

Cass turns away from Steph, reluctantly, and Jason lunges forward, hoping they can break through to her. “Why, Cass?” He says. “Why?”

Cass turns to him, face furious.

“I’m the Slayer,” Cass says. “Not… _her_!” She points at Steph. “She’s stopping me from being what I need to be.”

“Got it in one, kiddo,” Michael says absently. “Okay, so here we have five basic kinds of torture. Blunt, sharp, hot, cold and loud—”

“How did you do it?” Steph demands. “Pretend to be human. I couldn’t_ tell_, and I can always tell.”

“Oh, you think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?” Michael laughs. “Magic, of course. Magic trumps everything, little Slayer.”

“Oh, is that why you needed to hide behind a Slayer to beat me?” Steph rattles her chains again. “You’re pathetic—”

“Are you trying to bait me?” Michael asks, amused. “Cute. I’m a professional, little girl—”

“A little girl you’re so scared of you’ve got me chained up. You had to use a _taser _to take down Jason, and you have to play mind games with Cass to keep her on your side. You’re pathetic. And the torture thing? So cliché. What, compensating, can’t get it—”

Michael lets out a shout and throws a knife. It imbeds itself only a few inches from Steph’s face, but she doesn’t even flinch.

“You’re trying to get me to kill you quickly,” he chuckles. “But it won’t work. Cass is going to do it, and she’s going to do it slowly.”

“Why? Is Cain afraid that I’m going to derail all his evil plans if I’m loose? Think I’m going to stop it?”

He laughs. Not just a slight chuckle or a snicker. A full on, howl of mirth, tears flowing to his eyes.

“Oh, that’s rich, little girl. No one can stop the Ascension,” Michael says, striding forwards to her. Cain has everything planned, down to the last detail. He built this town for demons to feed on, and come the day of the eclipse, he’s getting paid. And me and Cassie here are going to be right there, his left and right hands.” He pauses. “Well, assuming he still has hands, once he finds his true form. Honestly, we’re not sure about that part yet. And all your friends, your Watcher… they’re going to die. Slowly.”

“… how did you fool us?” Steph breathes. “You’re an _asshole_?”

He chuckles, grabbing the dagger and yanking it out of the wall. “What can I say? I’m the world’s best actor.”

“Second best,” Cass says, from across the room.

* * *

Silence stretches out for a long, dangerous moment.

The relief in Steph’s chest is _palpable_, because finally, it’s over, they can stop this charade, this awful game.

Alpha’s face is one of abject horror as he realizes just how badly he’s screwed up.

Then with a shattering noise, Steph lunges forwards, the chains, which were never locked, falling to the ground at her feet.

“The eclipse, huh? Think we missed anything?” Steph says breathily, as she grabs Michael’s arm and swings him around.

“I think that’s everything we need,” Cass says, a small smile emerging on her mouth. It’s an entire load of Steph’s chest, seeing that expression, instead of the torturous watching her lying and pretending, the terrifying, traitorous part of her wondering if it’s really an act, if Cass is really going to kill her…

“You little _bitch_—” Michael says, his face twisting into its vampiric mask, but Cass is too quick, like she always is. She’s almost a blur, charging towards them, her bronzed stake in her hand, and she strikes fast and true, and Michael crumples into dust in Steph’s arms.

“We did it,” Cass says, unsteady on her feet. Steph reaches out to support her “We… we know what he’s planning.”

Steph holds Cass’s face in her hands, checking for injuries. “Are you okay? Your eyes—”

“It’s Tim’s spell,” Cass says. “To copy the drug.”

Steph sighs in relief and presses her forehead against Cass’s own. “God, that sucked.”

“It did,” Cass says, her voice trembling. “I—Steph—”

“Not to interrupt,” Jason says, from across the room. “But _what the hell_?”

“Sorry!” Steph says, jumping away from Cass. “I _told _you not to tag along—”

“You couldn’t have read me in?”

“We were in a hurry!” Steph protests. “We barely had time to find Tim to get him to do the spell to get the drug out of Cass’s system.”

“What _drug_?” Jason says, as Steph locates the key and unlocks him.

“He drugged me at the dance,” Cass says. “Alpha—Michael—could control it with his tattoo. It lost all its color when he used it. That’s how I realized.”

“And then she got me and told me Alpha was working for Cain and wanted her back, so we… started to improvise.”

Jason stands up, cracking his wrists. “I’m going to—just let you two talk this out. I’ll see you back at the library?”

Steph frowns at him, confused. “Sure?”

Jason looks between the two of them, and sighs. “Of course you still haven’t—clueless. You’re both _clueless_.”

He turns his back on them and strides out of the mansion.

Steph stares after him, confused, only to be distracted by Cass’s hand on her wrist.

“I… I didn’t kill her?”

“No, Cass,” Steph says. “You didn’t. She was already dead when they did their spell to trick you to stab her body.”

Cass’s eyes flutter closed with relief, and Steph, acting on pure instinct, wraps her arms around her and pulls her close.

“I don’t want to ever do that again,” Steph says. “Cass, I was going out of my mind, I was so scared for you.”

Cass grips her tightly. “Thank you,” she mutters, into the fabric of Steph’s shirt. “For believing in me. For… checking.”

“Of course,” Steph says, surprised. “Cass, you’re amazing, you wouldn’t just… I know you.”

“It’s…” Cass swallows, and looks down. “It wouldn’t have been the first time.”

“What?”

“When I was Called,” Cass says. “My father… he took me on a ship. Pointed me at someone and told me to kill. I thought… I thought he was a demon.”

“Cass—”

“He wasn’t,” she says. “He was human. And I just—” Cass closes her eyes. “I ran, I threw Cain off the boat and I jumped off and I just—I had to get away as fast as I could—” 

“You didn’t _know_,” Steph says, grabbing Cass’s chin, and forcing her to look at her. “Cass, it’s not your _fault_, someone you told you said it was a monster, why wouldn’t you believe him?”

Cass stares at her.

“You’re not a killer. You’re a hero. You’re _my _hero.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Too late, I’m printing out t-shirts that say Cassandra Cain’s number one fan, because you’re my friend and you’re important to me and I’m going to—”

Cass pulls away from Steph slightly and presses her fingers against Steph’s lips to cut off the wave of chatter. Which, fair, Steph was kind of rambling a bit, even if she’s completely serious about the t-shirt. 

“Cain said… you and Jason were dating.”

“What? No!” Steph says, blinking rapidly. Of all the random things an abusive dad to tell his daughter, why would he tell Cass anything to do with Steph that didn’t have to do with torturing her to death for unlimited power? “Why would he say that?”

“He wanted me to think you were lying to me,” Cass says, thoughtfully. “And...” She trails off, tilts her head to one side, staring up at Steph through her long, gorgeous eyelashes.

“Cass?”

“Hmm,” Cass says, thoughtfully. She stands up on tiptoes, takes Steph’s chin in her hand, tilts her head to one side, and kisses her.

Steph stands completely still for one moment, as her brain tries to scramble to process what’s going on.

But then her instincts kiss in, because this is _Cass_, and Cass is _kissing her_, and Steph didn’t end up being pregnant as young as she did by being bad at telling when someone really wants to be kissing her, and so she puts her hands on Cass’s hips and kisses back fiercely.

It’s clumsy but eager, and when they pull away, Steph finds herself beaming.

“Want to go on a date with me after we beat your dad into a pulp?” Steph says, dizzily.

“Before,” Cass says, confidently. “We’ll go to the Cave.”

“We always go to the Cave,” Steph points out.

“Not as girlfriends,” Cass says.

Steph’s stomach does a flip that’s probably medically impossible. “Girlfriends?”

“Yep,” Cass says, looking like she’s trying to cover up her own nervousness.

“Awesome,” Steph says, and she kisses her again.

* * *

Cain stares at the video screen, and his lip curls.

“Oh Cassie,” he sighs. “You had to make me do this the hard way, didn’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings for: minor character death including that of an eighteen year old, violence, memory loss, non-consensual drugging, gaslighting, manipulation, child abuse both systematic and individual, confinement, kidnapping, attempted brainwashing, threats of murder and torture, and David Cain being the absolute worst.
> 
> Also the incredible and talented thistleknight over on tumblr drew me fanart for this story! He did Steph and Cass dancing at prom together, which you can see [here!](https://thistleknight.tumblr.com/post/619145268171079680/because-this-is-cass-who-understands-more-than)


	11. wish i could slay your demons: part vi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David Cain's plan comes to fruition, and it's time for graduation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, at the end of arc 3! Thanks everyone for sticking with me this far, it means the world! 
> 
> Chapter warnings for this one: Bruce's backstory with resulting childhood trauma and parent death, violence, mentions of a past massacre, colonialism, illness, injury, and hospitalization,

“And then we staked him,” Steph says.

Babs has her face in her hands. Dick looks like he’s having to bodily prevent himself from leaping forwards to check on both of them—either to look for injuries, or to hug them, Steph’s not sure.

And Bruce…

Bruce’s face is stone.

“What were you _thinking_?” Babs says, finally. “You both could have been killed!”

“We had to find out.” Cass is pressed against Steph’s side, on the other side of the table from the three Watchers. Carefully, hidden behind their backs, Steph reaches over and squeezes Cass’s hand. “He had to… think it worked.”

“We didn’t have time to tell anyone but Tim,” Steph says, still guilty about leaving Duke in the dark. “But we needed a glamor to help with the drug, and—”

“No, you’ve rationalized your actions perfectly well,” Babs massages her temples. “But—you two realize how badly this could have gone, right?”

They shrug in unison.

“We’re Slayers,” Steph points out. “We kind of deal with throwing ourselves in harm's way every night. Don’t get me wrong, we’re _not _doing that again, because letting Cass in proximity of that bastard isn’t going to happen, unless she’s got a shiny sword in her hands.”

“What about an axe?” Cass asks. There’s a small, sarcastic smile at the corner of her mouth, and Steph wants to kiss it. And if they weren’t being interrogated by several authority figures, Steph probably _would_. They’re girlfriends now, she can do that.

The giddiness of that thought causes her to run her mouth again. Well, maybe she would have anyways, if she’s feeling honest with herself. She tends to do that a lot.

“Axe, Morningstar, flail, I’m not picky. Big, deadly weapon, at the very least. Preferably two, and me nearby so I can stab the corpse to make sure he’s _really _dead.”

Cass’s smile is brilliant, and Steph’s heart does a little flip-flop at that, because she’s weak, Cass is beautiful, and that smile is for _her_. 

“Well, you’re certainly making it difficult to scold you,” Dick says dryly. “Cass, not that I’m doubting Tim’s work, but why don’t you come with me back to the house? I want to check that you guys actually got that drug out of your system.”

Cass glances at Steph for a moment. “Okay,” she says.

After a beat where the two of them look at each other, Cass hugs her quickly and tightly, hard enough to leave bruises if they weren’t both Slayers, and then she follows Dick out of the library.

“You should have read me in when you asked about the arrow,” Babs says, rolling up to her. “Hand check.”

Obediently, Steph shows Babs her hands. There’s dirt and vampire ash under her fingernails, and some faint red marks on her palms from where she’d dug her fingernails in until they’d bled, but already they’re healing.

Babs sighs over them anyways. “I’m sorry you went through that.”

“I—I didn’t want to tell anyone about the body. Not until I was sure.”

Cass’s expression had been so devastated, and the way she had moved… numb and quiet, pliant and in shock. Soaked to the bone by the rain, barely even moving without direction… Steph never wants to see Cass like that again. She would do _anything _to make sure that Cass never looked like that, and to protect her from any further harm.

“Even if it had been real, it was an accident, Steph,” Babs says, quietly. “I know you don’t like the Watchers, that you don’t have any reason to, but I promise you. None of us are about to lock either of you away, not for an accident.”

“Maybe _you _wouldn’t,” Steph says darkly, glaring at Bruce, who is showing more backbone than usual, and remaining in the room, watching this whole scene.

Babs’s hands tighten around Steph’s. “None of us,” she says. “Not me, not Dick, not Alfred, and not Bruce.”

“Bull—” Steph yanks her hands away, before Bruce cuts her off.

“Barbara. Give us the room?”

“No way,” Steph says, spinning on her heel to leave.

Babs takes her wrist into her hands. “Stephanie. You need to hear this. Just… give him two minutes.”

It takes conscious effort to remove her hand from Babs’s grip without hurting her Watcher. The Watcher that _she _chose, not the one the Council assigned her. “Why?”

“Because it’s what he told me, years ago. And I think you should hear it.”

Steph flexes her hands, wanting to clench them into fists, but worried that she’d reopen the fading crescent marks on her skin if she did.

“Fine,” she says, filling her voice with every ounce of loathing, of bitterness, of anger that she can dredge up. “Because _you _asked.”

Babs gives her a smile, oddly soft and kind, and pats her arm. “I’ll be in the computer lab, if you want to talk after.”

The swinging doors fall back into place as she leaves, and Steph turns towards Bruce, crossing her arms over her chest, as if she could somehow protect herself from what he’s going to say.

“So?” She demands.

Bruce looks away from her.

“I’m sorry.”

Steph blinks. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and the words don’t make any more sense the second time.

“I—is this a prank? A joke? Am I dying? Is someone filming this?” She looks around wildly, looking for some sort of… _answer_. It’s been months since her birthday, and she’s known Bruce since she was fifteen. The only time he’s apologized to her was that awful day, when she found out that she was prophesied to die.

When she’d decided that he cared, and he wasn’t just going to send her off to die, and she’d finally opened her heart, just a little bit, to this man. This awful man, who had then gone off and proved that he was no better than any of the others, that she was a pawn in his game. That all of his affection and kindness, his willingness to follow her to her death, meant nothing when the Council’s gaze fell upon him.

He can’t… he can’t _really _be apologizing to her. She’s sure of that.

Bruce looks like he already has regrets. “No.”

Steph squints at him. “What are you sorry _for_?”

* * *

_Bruce Wayne is born when his mother is seventeen years old. She has him in a hospital, because she wants to spit in the Council’s face. She puts Thomas Wayne’s name on his birth certificate, bold as brass, a challenge to the Council to come and take him._

_They don’t. She marries Thomas a few months later, after her eighteenth birthday. She wears a white suit, and Alfred holds Bruce in his arms. There are photos of that day, her smile wide and triumphant, her hands tangled with Thomas’s. Thomas is three whole weeks older than Martha, and the two of them are dizzyingly, giddily in love in the photo._

_But it’s not just love, Bruce has always known that._

_It’s also a rebellion._

_His earliest memories are of tables scattered with swords and ancient tomes. His father teaches him to read using a Bestiary as a picture book, he learns to walk with one hand balanced against a weapons rack._

_He remembers his mother’s smile, the warm and perfect feeling of her arms, corded with muscle, the prickle of his father’s stubble against his cheek, the smell of his cologne._

_Alfred was always there, helping, every step of the way. Sharpening weapons or sorting the books, holding Bruce or bandaging Martha’s injuries._

_In the mornings, lying in the bed he shares with his parents, he can hear his parents, saying things he doesn’t understand. Names he won’t know for years, species of demons, settlement plans, peace accords with warring factions, Council politics._

_“They won’t let this last,” Martha says, every morning, scooping Bruce out of his tangle of sheets and blankets and hugging him tightly. “They can’t let it; it will mean they lose too much.”_

_Thomas kisses Martha, and then kisses Bruce’s forehead. “Let them try.”_

_Bruce turns four, and his parents laugh and cheer. Martha carries him on her shoulders and Thomas wraps presents in dinosaur paper._

_But on his mother’s birthday, Martha cries._

_“The record,” she says. Tears trickle between her fingers like diamonds._

_He tugs the hem of her shirt. “Don’t cry,” he tells her. “I’ll fix.”_

_She laughs, the sound wet with tears. “Oh Bruce.” She picks him up in her arms and meets his eyes._

_He thinks then, and he still thinks now, that Martha Kane is the only person he’s ever known who looks just as beautiful when she’s crying._

_“I want to see you grow up,” she says, resting his feet on her knee. “I hope you grow up. I hope you’re smart and kind and wonderful and—” she covers her mouth with one hand. “I want it so, so badly, Bruce. I want to see you get tall. I want to send you to school. I want to see you make friends and maybe fall in love. I want to see you—I want to live, Bruce.” Her voice cracks, and the tears fall._

_“Martha,” Thomas says, removing Bruce from her arms. “It’s going to be okay.”_

_“I’m the oldest Slayer that’s ever been, Thomas,” she laughs, hysterical. “No one else has ever turned twenty-two! I can’t get older than this, there’s no way they’ll let me, I’ll—”_

_Bruce is handed to Alfred, and his father goes to his knees, holding his mother’s face in his clever hands, whispering soothing words that Bruce will spend the rest of his life trying to make out in his dreams and nightmares alike._

_Bruce doesn’t see his mother cry again._

_Not even on the last night he ever sees her._

_The day is filled with shouting and phone calls, with weapons piled high on the tables and in bags, with his mother punching the wall hard enough to put a hole in it, with his father pleading and begging, the headset of the phone pressed between his ear and his shoulder as he holds Bruce in his arms._

_It’s all for nothing._

_They put Bruce in his booster seat, and the four of them get in the car._

_Martha presses kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, his fingers. “I love you, never forget this, I love you, I’m proud of you, I love you.”_

_“Love you too, Mommy,” Bruce says. “Out?” He holds out his arms, so she can unbuckle him._

_“Not this time, Bruce,” she whispers. She kisses Alfred on the cheek. “Thank you. I love you.”_

_“I love you too, my girl,” Alfred whispers, wrapping his arms around her._

_Thomas kisses Bruce too, whispers his love, and then the two of them get out of the car._

_They kiss in the light of the full moon, their shadowed forms merging in Bruce’s mind, and he cranes his tiny, fat neck, to watch for them._

_He knows the sound of battle, even by then, and he isn’t bothered by it, starting to chatter at Alfred about turning on the radio, at if he can have a snack, if—_

_Then the screaming starts._

_“Tommy!” His mother yells. His father is shouting, but there are no words, the only noise is **pain**, and other screams fill the air, the sound of metal and flesh and—_

_Alfred is out of the car in a moment, leaving Bruce alone, protected by iron, salt, and charms, unable to stand by as the children he raised die._

_But there was nothing that he could have done._

_Martha Kane buries her sword in the heart of the last enemy, and she turns around to see Alfred, her stomach bleeding from a gash that even her healing can’t stop._

_“Tell him I’m sorry,” she begs._

_Bruce never hears those words._

_But Alfred tells them to him._

_Martha Kane dies, three feet away from where her husband fell, less than a hundred yards from the car where her son was._

_And Bruce Wayne never forgets any of it. Not the way the Council refused to help, not the way that they try to take him from Alfred, not the way that Alfred has to give up his seat in order to keep him, not the way that his mother died, young and scared, and she didn’t **have to**._

_He does research._

_He thinks._

_He plans._

_He meets a boy whose parents were hunters killed by a human protected by the Council, and helps him get justice. He takes him in, adopts him, and years later, when Dick sits down and demands answers, Bruce gives them to him._

_Barbara Gordon, the daughter of an old friend, kidnapped eight years before he found her. He takes her, gives her back to her parents. She joins their crusade, years later, even if they don’t dare submit her to be a Watcher because they don’t want anyone to connect her to the missing Potential._

_Jason Todd, the son of a Potential, brimming with passion and kindness. Taking him in was the easiest thing in the world, and from the very beginning, Jason was on board, ready to take on the Council with nothing but his own teeth. He’d seen what they could do, how they’d left Catherine Todd to die with nothing when she hadn’t been the Slayer._

_It goes wrong, of course. It’s not according to plan._

_Until she arrives, and he begins to think he can salvage it._

_Stephanie Brown. Fifteen years old, untrained, angry, traumatized by her first Watcher._

_But a survivor. Her instincts are good and her heart is big, and Bruce… Bruce can almost believe, again._

_It’s a foolish thought. She’s doomed. He knows it._

_But more than anything, he wishes that Stephanie Brown could live._

* * *

“You said… in Ethiopia… you met the First Slayer.”

“Sineya,” Steph says, frowning. “What about her?”

“You said she was ninety-seven years old.”

Steph blinks. “Yes.”

Bruce nods.

“You know that Slayers rarely make it to their eighteenth birthday.”

“I’ve noticed,” Steph says, wryly.

“The official record,” Bruce says, as if she hasn’t even spoken. “Is that the oldest Slayer is twenty-two.”

“You’re not really telling me anything new, B,” Steph says, losing her temper.

“She was my mother.”

Steph goes still.

“She died when I was very young. But I… wanted to understand why.” He runs his hand over his hair.

“Understand what?”

“Why Slayers died young.”

“Because it’s dangerous,” Steph says, slowly. “Because there’s only one of us—”

“Because the Watchers make sure they die young,” Bruce corrects.

Steph stops, again.

“What?”

“It’s a story that the Council doesn’t like to tell,” Bruce says. “I told you that the Council is younger than the Watchers. In truth, it only dates back to the mid 1500s. During the reign of King Edward VI, a group of English nobility, scholars, clergymen, and wealthy businessmen began to become aware of the existence of magic and demons, in the direct way, not in the superstitious, vague way. And more importantly, they became aware of the existence of Slayers, because a prominent British noblewoman, connected to the Royal Family, was discovered to be a Potential.”

“As far as we can tell, she was the first Potential on English soil, or at least the first one who couldn’t just go elsewhere. But when she was very young, a woman arrived, it’s not entirely clear where she was from. But given the… crude, language, used, it’s generally believed she was from the Middle East or Northern Africa. She came with a husband, and three children. She claimed to have been a Potential, and had trained under the previous Slayer, who had died of old age.”

“… Old age?” Steph says.

“Yes,” Bruce says. “Over the years, more and more women came from all over the world, all of them former Potentials or descended from them—or from Slayers themselves. They began to train her, teach her to fight, and to… give her ideas.”

Steph finds herself cold.

“And then she was Called, and the men realized just how Powerful the Slayer was, and how little control they had over her.” He looks away. “They tried to marry her off, convinced in some strange way that it would go away when they did. But she remained the Slayer, remained stronger than them, and out of their power.”

“So they killed her?”

“Family politics killed her first, before they could,” Bruce says. “But her trainers, her tutors, her friends… it was a massacre.”

“Why?”

“Because the Council realized what was happening. Every year, Potentials grew out of being Potentials, but they were trained and strong. And then they’d go out and find more Potentials, and they’d go find the Slayers, and they’d form communities. They’d teach each other, learn from each other, work together. The Slayer was a part of a family of warriors, magicians, scholars, craftswomen. They were multicultural, multilingual, and crossed entire continents to find the next Slayer, and then more continents to go and find new Potentials and raise them in their home countries.”

“So the Watchers…”

“Were the Potentials. The children of Slayers. Even their spouses. It was a position of choice, purely depending on the willingness to train the next generation, no matter where it would take you.”

“They had an oral history, and from what few written records I could find, it seemed that it was very common for Slayers to live twenty, thirty, forty years, and die of… natural causes.”

“Natural causes? Not… apocalypses?”

“Not as far as I could tell,” Bruce says. “Sineya might have been an outlier, but it’s only been in the past five hundred years, that becoming the Slayer has meant a death sentence.”

Steph sits down.

“So the Council… killed them?”

“As far as I can tell,” Bruce says. “As colonization expanded, they hunted Potentials and what was left of the true Watchers. They put the Potentials under… what they deemed to be proper supervision.”

“White rich guys?”

“Correct.” Bruce sighs. “They don’t spread this story. They hide it. It took me years of research to find even a _mention _of the true Watchers. It’s taken me a lifetime to put this together.”

Steph’s eyes widened. “Wait, _that’s _why you want a seat on the Council?”

“To destroy it,” Bruce confirms. “And to try to make sure that Slayers have the support networks that they need to get not only trained, but to have a group of people that they can turn to. Because having people to depend on, people you can trust… everything I’ve ever found says this. Slayers live longer when they’re not alone.”

Steph looks down at her hands.

“So we don’t tell the Council,” she says. “About me firing you. That way, you can still get on the Council, when I die.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says.

She meets his gaze.

“I’d much rather you stay alive,” he says. “Forget the Council. You and Cassandra… you’ve given me _hope_. Hope that I never thought I’d find. That we can start changing things _now_, instead of waiting until the distant future.”

“I’m—”

“You have more of a community around you than any Slayer I’ve seen on record since the 1500s,” Bruce says. “And between you and Cassandra, I believe we can start to make real change.”

Steph feels her throat tightening up.

“Hope, huh?” She swallows, despite the pain. “Well, that’s a start.”

* * *

“So, Cass and I are dating now,” Steph tells Jason.

“_Finally_.”

* * *

“I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh, sweet, that’s awesome Cass, high five!” Kon offers her a hand.

She hits his hand perfectly, and then the two of them turn it into a fist-bump, followed by an explosion.

“Also I’m dating Steph.”

“I—_you couldn’t have led with that one_?”

* * *

“So you know how you kind of freaked out when I told you I had a crush on Cass?” Steph says.

“I wouldn’t say I freaked out,” Harper hedges.

Carrie gives her a strange look. “You immediately became so full of teenage angst that I was immediately drawn to you and I was able to empower you to create an alternate universe that was a near-apocalypse.”

“You don’t have to bring it up!”

“It is how we met,” Carrie frowns. “Your heartbreak and devotion were very attractive. Why should I not mention it?”

Harper covers her face with her hands.

“Anyways…” Steph looks like she’s considering running away. “I just wanted to tell you that Cass asked me out on a date. And I said yes. And now I’m going to leave you alone to try to explain ethics once again to your newly human girlfriend.”

And then she beats a very quick and strategic retreat, leaving Harper to freak out and Carrie to be puzzled.

* * *

“I win,” Cass announces.

“Win what?” Duke asks, turning a page of his book.

“I’m dating Steph.”

“Oh, that is winning. Good for you, Sis.” He pauses, then he groans. “Crap, this means that I’m the only single one, doesn’t it?”

“Jason’s single.”

“Jason’s a _vampire_!”

Cass taps her lip thoughtfully. “Dick?”

“Dick has a long-distance relationship that he’s hiding from Bruce.”

“Babs?”

“Girlfriend in California.”

“… Bruce?”

“Oh God, I’m going to die alone.”

“… you’re eighteen.”

“… yeah but your dad’s evil plan is scheduled for graduation, so—”

“Graduation? It’s the eclipse.”

“The eclipse is graduation day, so I’m skipping,” Duke says.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. If we survive it, maybe I’ll meet someone in college.”

“You will,” Cass says, confidently. “You’re way prettier than Tim.”

“Thanks Cass. You always know exactly what to say.”

* * *

“So… I’m bisexual,” Steph says, looking at her mother out of the corner of her eye.

“That’s lovely, when can Cass come over for dinner?”

“I—I didn’t say I was dating Cass?”

“You didn’t have to, dear.”

“… I expected a bit more of a reaction than this?”

“You’ve been doodling “Stephanie Cain” in your notebooks for the past six months. And leave them on the kitchen table.”

“… oh.”

“Also, I _do _look at your Snapchat Story, and you put a lot of bisexual flag emojis there.”

“… so you’ve known for a while then.”

“A bit,” Crystal admits. She reaches over, and squeezes Steph’s hand. “But I’m really glad you trusted me enough to tell me. And I’m very proud of you.”

Steph hugs her mom tightly.

“Thanks Mom,” she says.

* * *

“Do I have to dress differently now that I’m a lesbian?” Cass asks Tim, having crawled through his third-story window into his bedroom.

“I—no? Not unless you want to?”

“Hmm.” Cass crosses the room to Tim’s wardrobe.

“I—_Cass_, those are _my clothes_.”

“Yep.” Cass drags out an oversized Dungeons and Dragons Tee, holds it up to her chest, and then throws it onto the laundry chair.

“I—you have clothes?”

“Not _gay _clothes,” Cass says, sensibly, examining a ratty sweater that Tim’s had for years.

“Clothes are gay if gay people wear them—Cass, _don’t change in front of me_!” He turns around, panicking.

“Coward,” Cass says, but she stops pulling off her sweater. “Plaid is gay, right?”

“I mean, yes? But—Cass, those jeans will _not _fit you!”

“Challenge accepted.”

“That’s not a challenge, that’s a _fact_! And—” Tim pauses. “You know what’s _really _gay, Cass?”

“What?” Cass says, having put Tim’s plaid shirt on over her hoodie.

“Wearing your _girlfriend’s _clothes.”

Cass’s eyes light up. “Like how you wear Kon’s jacket!”

“Exactly,” Tim says, feeling rather like he managed to stop a speeding car that had been barreling towards him at full throttle.

“Steph has nice clothes,” Cass says, thoughtfully.

The next thing Tim knows, his shirt has been thrown into his face, and Cass is scaling down the drainpipe.

“Goodbye to you too!” Tim yells after her, bemused.

“Tim? What’s that?” Jack calls.

“Just yelling at a squirrel, Dad!”

He closes the window.

* * *

“So what, exactly, is an Ascension?” Steph asks, when everyone gathers the next day.

Their group seems to be constantly increasing, which is… nice, Steph has to admit. Harper’s even dragged Carrie along, although the former demon rarely has much to say at these meetings, and indeed, seems bored for most of it, as Steph and Cass run through their wild adventure of deception, drama, and stabbings.

“That sounds like some pretty generic evil ritual to me,” Tim says.

Carrie blanches. “Where did you hear that word?”

“Ascension? Cain’s evil minion was ranting about it.”

Carrie goes very still. “I need to pack.”

“What?” Harper grabs her wrist. “What are you talking about?”

“I—” Carrie looks at them, biting her lip. “About eight hundred years ago in the desert of Khandaq, there was a sorcerer there who achieved Ascension. She became the embodiment of the demon Lo-Hash.” She looks… and sounds, for that matter, _scared_. “Lo-Hash was… she… they…it… decimated the village within hours. Maybe three people got out. I went to the village, afterwards. I—I’ve seen some horrible things in my time. I’ve been the cause of most of them, honestly. But this…” She wraps her arms around herself. 

“A Lo-Hash was a four-winged soul killer, am I right?” Dick says, frowning.

“That’s right,” Bruce says. “They’re not that fierce. We’ve certainly faced worse demons.”

“You’ve never seen a demon,” Carrie says, white-lipped.

Steph and Cass look at each other.

“I think that’s in our job description, actually,” Steph says.

Carrie shakes her head. “Demons that you’ve seen… they’re the ones who can walk the Earth. They’ve had to compromise in some way. Become tainted. Weaker. Like… I was a Wish Demon. But I was a _human _Wish Demon. A real one… it couldn’t be defeated by smashing an amulet. When they change reality, it’s _forever_. And the same with Lo-Hash, and any other demon in true form.”

“Oh we’re screwed,” Steph says.

“Basically. An Ascension means that a human becomes a pure demon. They’re… different.”

“I’m going to regret this,” Dick says. “But different how?”

“For starters?” Carrie replies. “They’re bigger.”

They all look at each other.

“So do we… know what demon Cain is summoning?”

Cass shakes her head. “He just said… it’s a her, and she’s in prison.”

“A prison for demons,” Dick says, drumming his fingers on the table. “Okay, we can work with that.”

“So fun announcement,” Babs announces, looking up from her laptop.

Duke covers Cass’s mouth before she can use the conversation as a platform to announce her sexuality and dating status.

She licks his hand, and he recoils, glaring at her, sticking his own tongue out.

“_Children_,” Babs says.

“Sorry Babs,” they chorus.

Beneath the table, Duke kicks Cass. She kicks back.

“So the Mayor has announced who the Graduation Speaker is.”

“Oh, don’t tell me,” Steph groans.

“Correct, we’ve got one David Cain, who claims to be an alumnus of the school despite having no proof of that.”

“He’s going to hold his Ascension at the _high school_?”

Carrie puts her folded arms on the table, and presses her forehead against them. “Are you sure we can’t run away?”

“At the very least, I’m skipping class for the rest of the day,” Duke says.

“Graduation’s not for another week,” Bruce says, frowning at him.

“So, I’m only allowed to skip the day of?”

“You’re not going to skip class at all.”

“If I’m going to die, I’d rather not waste my limited time left on Earth listening to Ms. Isley complain about Monsanto!”

“You’re not going to die,” Bruce says.

Everyone looks at him skeptically.

He sighs. “There’s no call for fatalism.”

“Did he hit his head?” Jason stage-whispers.

“He has hope, whatever that means,” Steph says back at the same volume.

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

The bell rings. “Go to class, all of you,” Babs says. “I’m going to call some contacts, see what I can find out about demons in prison. And Ascensions.”

* * *

“Merlyn, it’s always great to see you,” Cain says, amiably.

“A pleasure,” the archer says, shaking his hand. “So, you’ve got a target for me?”

“I do indeed.” He hands over a photo.

“Easy enough. Normal rate?”

“Make the shot, I’ll pay you double.”

Merlyn whistled. “You really want the poor bugger dead, don’t you?” He pockets the photo. “Well don’t worry. Won’t be alive for much longer.”

* * *

“Yeah, Cain. Have you heard of him?”

…

“Because you _owe _me, that’s why.”

…

“Cain. C-A-I-N.”

…

“The Ascension, that’s right. What do you know?”

…

“I didn’t tell you I’m in America because you never asked, Zinda!”

…

“Yes, a demon prison. No, I don’t know what circle, Raven, the demon wasn’t bragging that much.”

…

“No, I don’t think he’s a relation, Kate.”

…

“Masak Mavdil. Are you sure? Thanks Ted, that’s a start, I’d kiss you if you weren’t married.”

…

“Ralph, I’m calling in a favor you owe me—”

…

“Hi baby, yeah, it’s me, tell me, what do you know about demon family trees?”

…

“Dan, can you tell me about the excavation site you found?”

…

“Etrigan? Seriously? No, it’s not that I’m doubting you, Zee—do you have Blood’s phone number?”

…

“John, do you happen to have any exes in hell at the moment?”

…

“The Serpent Queen?” Babs’s smile is vicious and wide in its triumph. “Renee, I owe you one.”

* * *

“So,” Tim says, sitting down at the lunch table. “I’ve decided where I’m going to college.”

“Same here,” Harper says.

“And me,” Duke adds.

Steph looks between the three of them, her stomach sinking.

She’d known this was coming, she reminds herself. Just because she couldn’t bring herself to leave…

The three of them drop letters onto the table.

Steph picks them up.

“… Gotham?” She looks up. “But… what?”

“Can’t minor in saving the world anywhere else,” Duke says, grinning.

“Besides, magical research is far more interesting here than anywhere else,” Tim says.

“Can’t let you and Cass do everything for yourself,” Harper says. “Baby gays, you’ll just get so busy pining that you’ll forget to fight evil.”

“I—”

Steph forgets that she’s in public and supposed to behave normally, in favor of bodily launching herself across the table to hug her friends, tackling the three of them onto the ground.

The four of them hug, and Steph lets herself laugh and forget about the Ascension, just for a moment.

* * *

“What’s this?” Dick says, looking over Babs’s shoulder.

“Photos Dan Garett sent me,” she says. “He excavated a lava bed in Indonesia, near a dormant volcano.”

“That’s… a big skeleton,” Dick says.

“Dan’s telling his colleagues it’s a dinosaur,” Babs says, propping her chin in her hand.

“Is that what he’s telling you?”

“Well, his best guess was a dragon. But given what Carrie said…”

“A demon?”

“Looks like it.”

“But from what Cass says, he can’t be killed. He’s… invincible.”

“Impervious,” Babs corrects. “And… if it’s dead…”

“Maybe it’s vulnerable during the Ascension? It’s only before that he can’t be killed?”

“Given that from what Michael told me, Cain’s sent _five _assassins after Dan… I think we can safely guess that he’s trying to hide evidence of this.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love your information network?”

“You could stand to mention it more often,” Babs says.

“So we just need a million tons of burning lava, maybe a few thousand of pumice and ash, and we’re saved!”

“Well, that is the tricky part, isn’t it?” Babs says dryly.

The two of them turn their attention back to the skeleton.

“That’s a really big demon,” Dick says, quietly.

“Our girls can handle it.”

“God, I hope so.”

* * *

Summer seems to sneak up on them completely. One day the spring weather is full of cold rain and dead plants, the next finds the trees in full, rich bloom, and the sun falls bright and wonderful on Steph’s skin as she lies in the green grass, her head resting next to Cass’s, only a few tall blades of grass interrupting her view of her girlfriend’s upside down face, which is, of course, facing her instead of looking up at the soft clouds they’re pretending to watch. 

Dating Cass isn’t like dating boys back in California. There’s no rushed franticness to their kissing, no frenzied hurry towards conclusions or easy answers in the back of cars or on squeaky mattresses.

Despite who they are, the pace of their lives, the threats hanging over their heads, there’s almost a languidness to things. A willingness to savor each kiss, each brush of skin, each laugh.

Steph twists to one side and props herself up on her elbows.

“Hey Cass?”

“Mm?” Cass hums, not moving just yet.

“There’s something I should tell you. About what I saw in Ethiopia.”

“You told me,” Cass says, confused. She rolls over onto her stomach, pushing down some dandelions so they’re not in her face.

“Not quite everything,” Steph says.

So she tells her, about the bit at the end.

The pool of darkness, and Sineya’s offer to bathe in it. The way the darkness had clung to her, trying to pull her in, the intoxicating feel of power…

And her decision to pull away.

Cass stares at her. “You…”

“I didn’t want to be powerful, if it meant losing my friends,” Steph says. “I—but I’ve been thinking, with this Ascension thing… Was it a mistake? Maybe if I’d gone in, maybe I’d be strong enough to deal with this—”

“I… don’t think so,” Cass says. She bites her lip.

“What? Why?”

“Because… I think Cain somehow managed to tap into it. I… can use it. Make myself stronger. Faster. Better.”

“What?” Steph sat a bit more upright. “What do you mean?”

Then she remembers.

“That time you were… glowing? That’s what you were doing? While fighting Croc?”

Cass nods. “It… kept me alive when I was fighting the Joker, too.”

“… Harley said you didn’t bleed right,” Steph says, feeling sick.

“Yes,” Cass says, not meeting Steph’s gaze. “He—he taught me to use it. But…”

“Hey, no,” Steph says, reaching out to touch Cass’s face. “It’s what we are. He might have figured out how to use it, but it’s the same thing that I have, the same thing all of us had.”

“All of us,” Cass says. “Like Sineya.”

“And Bruce’s mom.”

The two of them sit with that, rolling it over in their heads.

“Do you want to make out?” Cass asks, after a while.

“_Please_.”

Cass straddles Steph’s lap, tangles her fingers in Steph’s hair, and they do just that until it’s time for patrol.

* * *

“Maybe I can use the rocket launcher to blow him up,” Steph says.

“Blondie, as much as I’d love to see that, I’m not sure that’s enough firepower.

“I still think explosives are the way to go.” Steph shrugs. “Listen, the Ascension is in _two days_, we’re running low on options, here.” 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love explosives as much as the next vampire—”

The thing about bows and arrows, is that it’s a lot quieter than a gunshot.

Steph doesn’t hear anything, doesn’t sense anything, until Jason lets out a shout of pain, and buckles to his knees, an arrow sticking out through his shoulder.

“Jason!”

Steph rushes to his side.

“Jason? _Jason_!”

* * *

“This is the second time I’m running poison analysis on an arrow, and I don’t like this trend,” Babs says. “If this is going to keep happening, I’m going to need Alfred to bring over my full set up from England.”

“I’m fine,” Jason insists, as if sweat isn’t beading on his forehead where none should be.

“You’re having fever symptoms. You’re a _corpse_,” Harper says.

“That’s not what a vampire is,” Jason protests. “We’re not zombies.”

“You don’t have a heartbeat, your blood doesn’t flow—”

“I swear to god if you mention Jason’s junk, I will not be responsible for my actions,” Tim says, the arrow floating an inch above his hand.

“You’re the one who brought it up, Timmy,” Jason tries to grin, but it ends up being a grimace.

Steph paces. “It’s got to be Cain. It _has _to be Cain. I swear, I’m gonna rip off his arm and feed it to him—”

“In addition to the other deaths you had planned for him for what he did to Cass?” Duke asks, putting a wet cloth on Jason’s forehead.

“I’m calling the Council,” Bruce says. “They’ve got a full record of magical poisons, and Cain was one of them. Whatever he’s using, it’s probably documented by them.”

He pauses over Jason for a moment, before Jason reaches up and squeezes his hand. “I’m fine, Dad,” Jason says, his voice slightly slurred.

Bruce’s eyes tighten in pain, but he leaves to make the calls.

* * *

“Done.”

“Merlyn, my good fellow, you’re always worth the money.”

“I could have put it through his heart,” Merlyn says. “What’s the point of a warning shot?”

“Kill him, they just rally the troops,” Cain explains patiently. “But this? This is going to keep them nice and distracted.”

“Whatever you say,” Merlyn says, rolling his eyes and taking the proffered check. “Good luck with your apocalypse.”

“You don’t sound worried.”

“Eh, do you know how many apocalypses I’ve helped start over the years?” The archer shrugs. “It’s May, it’s the busy season, I’m helping Lex Luthor set off a doomsday device next week. One of these days, someone’s gonna succeed, sure, but until then, a job’s a job.”

“A practical way to look at it.”

“That’s how I figure,” Merlyn salutes Cain with the check in hand, and then heads off, whistling.

“Human greed,” Cain says fondly. “Such a reliable tool.”

He glances over his shoulder at the small army of vampires, lurking behind him. “I assume you all are ready?”

They nod.

“Excellent.”

* * *

They move Jason to the house, where they can control sunlight easier.

Cass and Steph board up the windows, while Dick maneuvers Jason into his bed. Babs, Duke, Tim, and Harper set up shop in the living room to work on things.

“Jeeze, Little Wing, you’re burning up,” Dick says.

“You’ve gotta—focus,” Jason says, trying to bat away Dick’s hands. “He’s detracting—no… distracting? Distracting you.”

“I don’t care,” Dick says. “I’m _not _going to lose my brother again.” He squeezes Jason’s hand hard enough that the bones pop.

“Bruce!” He hears them say from the living room.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

Jason mutters something, and closes his eyes.

Dick closes the door behind him, and goes into the living room.

“Did you reach the Council?” Babs asks, looking up from her work.

“Yes,” Bruce says. He looks… old. “They couldn’t help.”

“Couldn’t?” Dick asks. “Or—”

“Wouldn’t,” Bruce says. “It’s apparently against the Council’s policy to cure vampires. _Any _vampires.”

“But—it’s Jason!” Dick protests.

“I tried to make that argument,” Bruce says. “But I was told… quite firmly, that they believe that the death of any vampire is to be considered a positive.”

“Let me try,” Dick says, moving to go past Bruce into a room where he can make the call. “I’ll talk to Slade—”

“Dick,” Bruce grabs his arm. “I already talked to him. He said… this wasn’t about individuals. It was about laws that have existed longer than civilization.”

“But the Council—”

“I know,” Bruce says. “And Wilson does too. But he doesn’t care. His _orders_,” the word is full of bitterness, “are to concentrate on the Ascension.”

“I can convince him,” Dick says, desperately. “He—”

“He’s a monster, and you know it, Dick,” Babs says, quietly. She’s taken her hands off her keyboard. “He won’t just change his mind.”

“We’ll keep looking,” Duke says. “We’ll find a cure.”

Steph and Cass look at each other. Dick sees it out of the corner of his eye—a raised eyebrow, a nod, the squeezing of hands, before they turn in unison.

“Call him back,” Steph says to Bruce.

“Stephanie—”

“Tell him to give us the answers we need,” Cass adds, crossing her arms.

“Because if the Council’s not going to help us, this Slade guy can take his orders and shove them up his own ass,” Steph says.

“Jason’s… my brother,” Cass says, uncertainly. “And our friend. We _won’t _let Cain win.”

“We can’t just turn our backs on the Council,” Babs says. “Their resources—”

“They’re not letting us _use _their resources!” Steph throws her hands into the air. “If we’re going to have to answer to a bunch of assholes in England who kidnap kids and don’t see anything wrong with—all of this! And they still don’t even help us when we need it—”

“Then why bother?” Cass asks. “There are two Slayers. And all of us. We don’t need them.”

“They can either help us, or it’s a schism,” Steph flashes her teeth in a way that seems… sharp. Predatory, even. “Let them play _that _game, if they want to stick to their rules.”

“Mutiny, huh?” Dick says, looking at them, his heart swelling with pride.

Steph tilts her head to one side. “Well, given the month… I think it’s more like graduation.”

“They probably won’t change their minds,” Bruce observes. “They’ll think they can wait you out.”

“That was their plan the moment I got Called,” Steph says. “Let’s see how much good it does them.”

“Ready to be unemployed?” Dick asks Bruce.

“Years of planning,” Bruce shakes his head.

“No plan makes it past first contact with a Slayer, as Alfred always said,” Dick says.

“I suppose you’re right,” Bruce answers.

“For Jason,” Dick says, quietly.

Bruce nods.

“I’ll make the call.”

* * *

Jason gets worse.

His screams can be heard throughout the house, until, finally, Tim has to cast a silencing spell, because no one could concentrate.

Dick and Bruce came back empty handed.

“We’ll deal with the consequences of that later,” Bruce says.

Harper and Carrie come back from the school with armfuls of books, and a microscope from the chemistry classroom.

“This isn’t exactly up to standard, but it’ll do,” Babs takes it from Carrie. “Is Alfred on his way?”

“He’s packing,” Bruce says. “And he’s bringing your equipment.”

“Jason probably doesn’t have _time _for an international flight,” Steph snaps. She’s just gotten back from her turn watching over Jason, and it’s got her in a mood.

“Steph,” Cass squeezes Steph’s shoulder. Steph slumps.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

“It’s okay,” Bruce says. He looks like he’s been crying, which is an uncanny sight.

“No,” Steph mutters, sitting down and drawing her knees up to her chest. “It’s not.”

* * *

Steph and Cass make a run to Cain’s mansion to see if they can beat the answers out of him, but no one’s there.

“He’s moved for the Ascension,” Cass says.

“We’re running out of time,” Steph says. “Let’s search the place.”

They find strange weapons, magical artifacts, and several bodies… but nothing to give them answers.

* * *

“I’ve got it!” Duke finally says, slamming down a huge book onto the table in his excitement.

“What is it?”

“It’s really rare, but the Latin translates to Killer of the Dead.”

“Well, three guesses what species we use that for, and the first two don’t count,” Harper says.

“Got it in one,” Duke responds, flipping to the next page. “It’s obscenely expensive and very potent.”

“And the cure?” Bruce asks.

Duke reads, and goes still. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Babs tries to read over his shoulder. “Oh.”

“Guys, Jason doesn’t have a lot of time,” Harper says, impatiently. “What’s the cure?”

“The only way to cure this thing is to drain the blood of a Slayer.”

“Well, we’ve got two of us here, that’s easy enough,” Steph says.

“Steph. They mean _drain_,” Babs says, quietly. “It’ll kill you.”

Steph and Cass look at each other.

Cass nods, quickly, and jerkily.

“Not if we’re careful,” Steph says, turning back to them. “I know my blood type, we can be ready with a transfusion.”

“Even if we pull this off, you’re talking about losing and regaining almost all the blood in your body in a rapid time span,” Dick says. “Steph, you could suffer serious trauma from this, even with Slayer healing.”

“I’m not going to lose Jason,” Steph says.

“We can’t ask you to do this,” Bruce tries to reach out to her.

“You’re not asking, I’m saying.” Steph shrugs him off. “I’m doing this. I’m AB positive. Universal recipient. Handy, right?”

Cass catches Steph’s arm, spins her around, and kisses her quickly.

“Be safe,” she mutters, ignoring the stares of the Watchers.

“I’ll be careful,” Steph says. “You’ll pull him off me?”

“Of course.”

Steph takes off her jacket, hangs it up on a coat hook, and goes into Jason’s room.

“Hey Jason.”

He’s lying on top of his sheets. The hoodie and the jacket are thrown onto the floor, leaving him in a battered band t-shirt and a pair of jeans. His hair is soaked in sweat, the white streak blending into the rest of his hair in the poor lighting. He’s always pale, but now… he really does look like a corpse.

“Blondie?” 

“Hey,” Steph says again, squeezing his hand. He squeezes back, faintly.

“Good,” he mutters. “I think I’m—don’t think it’s long. Get… get ev’ryone to c’min, will you? Wanna say goodbye.”

“Duke figured it out,” she says. “We’ve found a cure.”

“Great,” he mutters. “What—whaisit.”

Steph sits back, and pulls her hair into a ponytail, slowly and carefully, so that her neck is exposed. “You’ve got to drink.”

He blinks at her slowly, dazed by the fever. “Wha?”

“Drink my blood, Jason,” she says, firmly.

He tries to get up, tries to scramble away. “No!”

“You’ve got to,” Steph repeats.

“I won’—I’d kill you!” He says.

“Nope,” Steph says. “Because you’re going to stop. Cass will pull you off me, and we’ll have transfusion ready to go, and we’re going to be _smart _about this, but you_. _Are. Going. To. Live.”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“The hard way it is,” Steph says, before punching him in the face. He falls back against the pillows, but he doesn’t react. She hits him again, and again, and again, each blow ringing through the room, until finally, with a roar, his vampire face emerges, taking with his human appearance the last vestiges of his control.

Grimacing, the memory of the Black Mask echoing through her mind, she grabs him by the shoulders into an upright position, and presses his face against her neck.

She then lets out a strangled cry of pain as he immediately catches on, and starts to drink.

Time goes sideways, her entire world narrowing to the pressure, the teeth, the pain, and the way her grip gets weaker and Jason’s gets stronger, until she’s no longer holding him up but he’s holding her in place, and the edges of her world begin to go fuzzy and soft around the edges.

When she thinks she can’t take anymore of this, when she thinks she’s about to pass out, she calls out.

“_Cass_!”

* * *

Jason jolts back to himself as Cass kicks him in the neck, forcing him away from Steph.

By the time he’s regained his sense of things, Cass has Steph cradled in her arms on the floor of his room, and he’s gasping and shaking.

“She—_Steph_!”

Cass holds up a hand, as Bruce and Dick run into the room, carrying a medical kit.

“Cass, put pressure on the bite, the ambulance is on its way,” Dick says. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Jason lurches to his feet. “Oh God—”

Bruce grabs his shoulders. “She’ll be alright, son,” he says, although his face is pale. “She… insisted.”

“And you let her?” He demands. “You should have just let me die!”

“Her choice,” Cass says. “I agreed.”

“I’m—why would you do that?”

“Because you’re family,” Cass’s face is fierce. “Real family. Family I _chose_. And Cain tried to take you away. But we won’t let him.”

“The ambulance is here!” Duke shouts.

Cass gathers Steph up into her arms and pulls her into the hallway.

Jason just stands there, Bruce’s hands still keeping him in place, as the ambulance takes her away.

* * *

_Steph sighs, changing the sheets on the bed._

_It’s important, she knows. Company’s coming, and the house has to be clean._

_A cat meows, and jumps onto the pile of pillows, resting on the floor._

_“You’re early,” she tells the cat._

_“Meow.”_

_“You can’t be here yet. He’s not here. He needs you.” She makes shooing motions, but the cat curls up on the pillows, as if intending to go to sleep._

_“I bet Cass never has to deal with this,” she grumbles, going back to making the bed. “I bet—”_

_Sineya knocks on the door. “Are you ready?”_

_“Is it time?” She says, surprised._

_“Only if you want it to be,” Sineya says._

_Steph looks around. The cat is gone._

_“No,” she says. Her cap and gown are spread out on the bed. “Not yet.”_

_“I thought so,” Sineya says. “But be careful.”_

_“Company is coming,” Steph agrees._

_The window opens, and Cass’s head peers through._

_“Steph?”_

_“Cass!” Steph rushes to the window. “You’re here!”_

_“Came to get you,” Cass says. “You’ve slept long enough.”_

_“Sleep?” Steph looks around, and realizes that everything is too bright, and that it’s not her room she’s in; it’s the spare room, which Mom always says is her office but is really just storage._

_“Let’s go.” Cass’s voice is urgent._

_“Okay,” Steph says, because she can’t think of any reason not to go with Cass._

_She thinks she hears a cat meow, one last time, before she takes Cass’s hand and wakes up._

* * *

Steph’s eyes open.

In the plastic seat beside her, so do Cass’s.

The two of them look at each other.

“Well that’s new,” Steph says.

Cass grins. “Very.”

“I like it.”

“Steph!” Tim says. “You’re awake!”

“Yep,” she says. She looks over at the IV, which is probably just giving her fluids.

She looks to her left, where her mom is, pale and worried. “Can I take this out?”

“Let me,” her mother sighs. “If you weren’t the Slayer, I wouldn’t let you.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I should have called.”

“Yes, you should have,” Crystal says, testily. “And we’ll talk about it _later_.”

“Sorry,” Steph says again.

“How are you feeling?” Duke asks.

“I’m fine. Where’s Jason?”

“It’s kinda sunny, so he’s still at the house,” Kon says, an arm over Tim’s shoulder.

“Right,” Steph nods. “Well, we’ll have to head back there too. Time for another meeting. We’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” Bruce asks, where he’s lurking in the doorway.”

“War,” Cass says, reaching over and taking Steph’s hand.

* * *

“So?” Steph asks, her hands on her hips.

“Well that’s… one way to make an omelette,” Dick says, faintly.

“We’re talking about a lot of broken eggs,” Jason adds.

“So, am I crazy?” Steph prompts.

“Crazy is a strong word,” Babs says, thoughtfully.

“Let’s not rule it out,” Bruce mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But crazy enough to work, right?”

“I—yes. Maybe,” Bruce admits.

“It’s not a _bad _plan,” Dick hedges.

“You’re kidding, right! This is the craziest plan I’ve ever heard,” Duke exclaims, side-eying his brothers.

“We attack Cain with Hummus,” Kon volunteers.

There’s a long, poignant pause.

“You always keep things in perspective,” Tim says, patting his boyfriend on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” Kon says, preening a little.

“Okay, putting aside the Hummus Offensive—”

“He’ll never see it coming,” Kon says.

“Does he have any weaknesses?” Harper asks. “Is there like… something we could use against him?”

“He’s protective of me,” Cass says, thoughtfully. “He… doesn’t like it that I have other friends… other people I care about.”

“That’s not protective, that’s abusive,” Tim says.

“I mean, that’s great, but I don’t think we’re going to beat this guy with psychology,” Harper says. “It took a volcano, remember?”

“Ergo, the plan,” Jason observes.

“Are we in?” Steph says.

Everyone looks at each other, and nods.

“Well, now we’ve just got the problem of supplies,” Bruce says.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Babs says.

They all look at her.

“What? Did you think I was just twiddling my thumbs and playing Minesweeper?” Babs says, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve made some calls. I can get us everything we need. Just give me a list.”

“Good,” Steph says. “Okay. So. Babs, you and Tim are on volcano detail. Bruce, you’re on implementation.”

“I suppose that’s… morbidly fitting,” Bruce’s expression is vaguely amused.

“Dick,” Cass says. “Weapons?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Everyone else, reach out. Cain had bodies in his mansion. Drained bodies. We’re looking at vampires.”

Everyone nods.

“Great,” Cass says.

She and Steph look at each other.

“Then let’s get moving,” Steph says.

* * *

Graduation Day is bright, sunny, and humid.

“This _sucks_,” Steph says, craning her neck to look around. Being in alphabetical order, she’s towards the front of the students. Tim is nearby, but she can’t see Cass in the audience, or even Duke or Harper, towards the back.

Carrie waves at her halfheartedly from two rows back.

Steph sighs, and waves back.

“Congratulations, graduating class,” Principle Valley says. “You have all worked hard, and proven yourself to be proud members of this community. I know I only had one year with you, but I hope each and every one of you knows how much you brightened this school, and how much you’ve grown as people.”

Steph frowns, not sure if she’s ever actually met Valley in person.

“But without further ado, I present a prestigious alumnus of this school, David Cain! He is a businessman who studied at Oxford and Cambridge, and runs a boarding school for young women in Macau.” 

There’s half-hearted applause.

Cain steps up to the podium, looks right at Steph, and smiles.

Steph breathes carefully, and stretches out with her senses.

Jason’s easy enough to identify at this point. But the other vampires… they’re an indeterminate mass, and her senses are further confused by… what is that she’s sensing? She can’t tell.

She turns her head over her shoulder again, trying to see what it is, but all she can see is rows upon rows of her fellow Gotham High students, all in the same ugly maroon robes.

Cain has started to talk. She doesn’t listen. She bounces her leg instead, staring up at the sky, watching as the moon begins to move into place, starting the eclipse.

On the stage, Cain is droning on and on about civic pride, when suddenly, he stops, and lets out a shout of pain.

A ripple of tension fills the crowd.

“Nothing to worry about,” Cain says, tossing aside his notecards. “We’re just ahead of schedule. Time for the finale!”

Turning towards the crowd, Steph knows, he’s looking at Cass.

And then…

He begins to change.

It’s like an egg hatching. Cracks become visible in his skin, shooting down from his head down his arms, beneath his suit, and then they’re abruptly forced apart, as a gigantic snake head forces its way out of his skull.

Screams fill the crowd as the snake unfurls itself, mandibles clicking, scales glimmering. It’s easily seven feet tall, and Steph would guess easily fifty feet long, crushing the stage beneath its weight as it emerges.

Steph takes a deep breath.

Behind her, the vampires draw closer.

“_Now_!”

* * *

Cass, in the audience, leaps to her feet on Steph’s signal.

She’s not the only one.

The students shed their robes, revealing weapons, crude armor, and stakes. This, she expected.

What she doesn’t expect is half the audience to get up and do the same. Only their grip on their weapons is confident, their armor is polished, and some of them…

Some of them aren’t human.

“The thing about Watchers,” Babs says from next to her. “Is that they always forget that there are hunters out there… who aren’t Slayers. And most of them owe me a few favors.”

“More than a few,” a man says, drawing a bow back to his ear and letting an arrow fly. Three vampires go up in dust.

“Protect the students!” One man calls, and he’s _flying_, red wings spread out like a cape.

“Flame units!” Steph’s voice rings out.

“Fire users, back them up!” Babs calls.

Flamethrowers roar to life, targeting the demon that was once her father. One woman who appears to be made of nothing but green flames leaps forward, and assists. A man in a trench coat draws arcane symbols in the air, while a woman in a top hat gestures and shouts.

Cain starts to scream.

It’s an awful sound, one that makes teeth ache and steps falter, but it doesn’t stop Duke from shouting. “First wave! Fire!”

The twang of crossbows sounds off, and bolts fly through the air. A few people in the audience are archers, and they join in, including the man with red hair next to her and Babs.

Cain tries to lunge forward, looking like he’s intending to eat a student, but a blur of movement rushes past Cass, and when it solidifies, a man with winged shoes comes into view, having pulled the student to safety.

“Rear guard!” Harper yells, and Cass twists around to see the vampires are daring to come closer. “Arrows!”

“Long distance is always the rage,” the archer next to Cass mutters, pivoting his attention back to the vampires.

“Stop bragging about your weapons choice,” a woman above them instructs. Cass, on her way to join the fray, looks up in awe at the woman, who _can’t _be human, with her long, flowing red hair and her pure-green eyes.

One of the school’s teachers is standing in front of the students, holding a crossbow. “Pick your shots!” The woman calls. “Chests only, don’t get flashy with headshots!”

They get in one more round of archery before the vampires charge.

Cass spins into the front, Mister Pointy in one hand. Others from the audience have joined her, with most of them focusing on keeping the students pressed towards the back, out of harm's way. She sees one student nearly get bitten, before some sort of protective shield emerges around them courtesy of a tall, golden haired man who flashes her a toothpaste-commercial smile when he sees her looking, before going back to the fight. 

And in the background, she hears her father let out another scream, and she turns and runs back through the crowd towards the stage.

* * *

“Fall back!” Steph yells, watching as the fast man and the man with wings have to pull more and more of the students out of danger. “Fall back!”

She hopes Babs’s assistants have been warned too.

“Charge!” Duke yells, and without turning her back to look, Steph knows that the students of Gotham High School have pulled out stakes and are charging into the crowd of vampires, which has hopefully been weeded out by Cass, Jason, and Dick’s work, plus Babs’s friends.

Cass’s presence in Steph’s senses is a light in the darkness, and Cass skids into place next to her, the floor being slick with fuel from the flamethrowers and polyester gowns.

“Hi Dad,” Cass says, quietly.

The screaming from the monster stops, and he looks at them.

“Cass!” Steph yells, dramatically. “What are you doing here? I told you to run!”

“I won’t leave you!” Cass grabs her arm. “I won’t let you face him alone!”

“You’re more important than me, Cass! You have to get out of here! You have to live!”

The monster lets out a scream of agreement.

“No! You’re just as important as me! I love you!”

Steph freezes. “Wait, what?” _That _wasn’t part of the script.

Cass kisses her.

Cain _screams_, and Steph and Cass leap back to avoid his gaping maw.

“Run!” Cass yells, shoving Steph forward, and Steph sprints into the school, Cain hot on her trail.

Steph runs fast, down the familiar hallway towards the library. She’s done this run a dozen times before, to find out if Cass was alive after the Joker’s attack, or just because she was in a hurry.

But now…

Behind her, Cain smashes through lockers and windows and doorways, uncaring of the damage he’s causing. 

She pushes through the double doors of the library, not allowing herself to take a moment to marvel at how _empty _it is, without the books or the weapons or even the decorations in Bruce’s office.

Steph launches herself out the window, and keeps running until she reaches the safe radius, allowing Cain to burst through the doors himself, to allow him to see the piles of explosives, fireworks, fertilizer, and diesel that they had gathered and carefully placed.

She skids to a halt next to Bruce, hearing his scream of fury as Cain realizes what’s about to happen.

With a small but noticeable smile of his own, Bruce pushes down the plunger of the detonator.

And Gotham High School explodes.

* * *

Casualties are low, thanks to the interference of Babs’s friends, including at least one person who’s _more _than friends, judging from the way that Babs and her greeted each other once the literal and figurative fireworks had stopped.

“I’m glad you called us,” the man with wings is saying to Bruce, although he’s tucked his wings into a blazer, so they’re not visible right now.

“Barbara did that,” Bruce grumbles.

The man laughs, and clasps Bruce on the shoulder. “Of course she did.”

“You never did learn when to ask for help,” a woman with dark hair and a golden rope wrapped around her waist like a sash says. “Honestly, Bruce.”

“Hey kid,” a voice says behind her, and Steph turns.

“Onyx!” She says, delighted. “You’re alive!”

“Sure am,” Onyx grins at her. “Friend of mine out in L.A. got the call to come and help. Apparently _someone _told the Watchers to go screw themselves?”

“Just a little,” Steph says, unable to stop her smile.

“Good job,” Onyx says.

Eventually, Steph finds herself sitting on the sidewalk, Cass on one side of her and Duke on the other. Jason had skulked off once the sun came back, but he’s texted her twice already.

“Are you alright?” Harper asks.

“Just tired,” Steph says, propping her head up on her chin, looking at the slowly dwindling crowd, as the EMTs and ambulances take away the injured, and the police let people go after taking statements.

Ms. Bertinelli walks by, a crossbow slung over one shoulder. “Hey kids,” she greets. “Found these in the wreckage. You’ve earned them.”

She passes over a stack of diplomas.

“… so have you just been a vampire hunter this whole time?” Tim wants to know.

“Retired,” she says. “Frickin’ Oracle.” She walks away.

“… this is just… a lot,” Steph says, as Kon and Carrie and Cass come over to join them.

“Well that was about as much fun as you’d expect from a graduation,” Duke says.

“I liked the part where we kicked some demon ass!” Harper punches the air. “That was way better than commencement addresses.”

“You guys want to go… I don’t know. To the Cave or something? I think we’re done here.”

“Absolutely,” Duke says, getting to his feet.

“Guys,” Kon says, “We should just take a moment. We _survived_.”

“Yeah, that was a tough battle,” Steph says. “I think I’m going to be getting fertilizer out of my hair for a week.”

“No, not that,” Kon says. “_High school_.”

They all look at each other.

“And, moment done!” Kon says, throwing an arm over Tim’s shoulder.

As they all start walking away, Steph and Cass let themselves fall to the back.

“Are you okay?” Steph asks.

Cass looks over her shoulder, at the remains of the school.

“I will be,” she says.

Steph draws to a halt, pulls Cass close, and kisses her.

* * *

“Did you have fun with the graduation party?” Crystal asks when Steph gets home.

“It was great,” Steph says, tugging off her shoes. “Kon’s band has a new song. “My Lesbian Friend’s Dad Is An Actual Demon. It’s catchy.”

Crystal laughs. “Well, head on up, I won’t keep you any longer. It’s been a _long _couple of days, and you can explain to me all of the blowing up the school and ending up in the hospital stuff in the morning.”

Steph grins, tiredly, kisses her mom on the cheek, and then heads up the stairs to go to bed.

She pushes open the door, and freezes.

“What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t come home.”

“So you went to sleep in my—of course you did.” Steph sighs. “Give me a sec to get changed.”

One set of pajamas, face washing, and tooth brushing later, she crawls into bed.

“Don’t worry kid, I’ve got you,” Steph says with a yawn, before putting her arms around her little brother and going straight to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! 
> 
> A partial list of cameos from this chapter: Lady Jane Grey, Zinda Blake, Rachel Roth, Kate Kane, Ted Kord, Ralph Dibney, Dan Garret, Zatanna Zatara, John Constantine, Renee Montoya, Alfred the Cat, Jean-Paul Valley, Clark Kent, Roy Harper, Beatriz da Costa, Wally West, Koriand'r, Helena Bertinelli, Booster Gold, Dinah Lance, Diana Prince, and Damian Wayne.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please take a moment to drop a comment, either here, or over on Tumblr, where you can find me @[secretlystephaniebrown](http://secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com).


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